In the Beginning
by madscientist1313
Summary: He knew how to hide, how to either fit in seamlessly with his surroundings or lean back into the shadows to escape detection. He knew how to get around without money or supplies. He knew how to evade and how to disappear. What he didn't know – from the moment he pulled Captain America's body from the Potomac – was what the hell he was going to do now.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I (sadly) own nothing in the MCU.

Author's Note: This is the buildup to a much larger story. When I first started this AU, it involved an established relationship between Bucky Barnes and the OFC Tessa Sullivan. But the more I got into it, the more I began to want to see _how_ they fell in love. So... In the Beginning...

* * *

Twenty-two hours. It had been twenty-two hours since Steve was found on the banks of the Potomac following an anonymous phone call from a good Samaritan. He'd been unconscious the entire time, his body healing, only partially thanks to the care of the doctors and nurses on staff at United. Tessa was actually fairly certain it was in spite of them, considering they how little attention they paid to the man. Sure, the city was falling apart around them and they had an influx of trauma patients unlike anything anyone in the area had seen. So they were busy. Fine. And yeah, okay, this particular patient was pretty well equipped to heal on his own, that's true. But really, that part they didn't know until she arrived nearly two hours after he'd been admitted.

It was hard to believe that it hadn't even been a full day yet. Just yesterday, she'd been taking a much needed break from her lab at Stark Industries, sitting at her desk with a Powerbar and a coffee, flipping aimless through the tv channels to pass the time while the cells she'd been working on proliferated in their petri dishes. It was pure luck that she'd been in her office when the news reports started to break. Had she been buried in the lab it would've been hours before she'd even realized something had happened.

She fled the tower about five seconds into the report – that was all the time she needed to glean that Steve was almost certainly involved with the strange air battle taking place in the nation's capital. It wasn't until she tuned into more reports in the car on the way down that she heard Captain America had actually been on the run for nearly two days and SHIELD director Nick Fury had been assassinated.

 _What the fuck?_ was the only thing on her mind for hours after that. Even once she discovered where Steve was. Even as she forced her way into the trauma center, telling everyone that she was his physician and as such demanded to see his chart. Even as she begrudgingly allowed Natasha to introduce her to this Sam guy before laying out the details of what had happened. Right up until the point that Nat had told her _every single detail_ , in fact. For at least five of the last twenty-two hours, nothing but _What. The. Fuck?_ rolled through her mind.

"On your left," she overhears from her perch in the corner. Peeking over the top of her laptop where she'd been catching up on all of the work she ran out on the evening before, she sees Sam smile wide at a bleary eyed, but very much awake Steve Rogers.

After a long moment, Sam looks across the room at her. "Hey, man," he says to Steve, "How is that you know so many gorgeous women and you've only even been in this century for like a week?"

Steve follows his eyes over to the corner where Tessa's sitting, her legs curled up beneath her in an uncomfortable looking way. She raises a single assessing eyebrow at him. He smiles wide in return. "Just lucky, I guess."

Tessa closes the laptop and slowly unfolds herself as Sam continues. "You've been holding out on me. And we've been friends for what, at least a day now?"

"Sorry," he replies, "Sam, this is Tessa. Tessa, Sam."

She moves closer to the bed, but nearly trips over her own left foot, which is so fast asleep that it's gone completely numb. "Yeah," she says, just barely catching herself on the bed's guard rail. "We've been hovering over you for about 20 hours now. We've met."

Steve chuckles. "Good. He tell you that he pretty much saved my life?"

Sam blushes a bit and ducks his head. "He mentioned it," she says with a shrug. "But really, at this point, who hasn't saved your life?"

Steve smiles briefly before giving her a strange look. "Nat?" he asks. "Is she okay?"

Sam responds with, "She's fine. Already took off."

"Yeah, not before sharing all of Hydra's secrets with the world, though," Tessa says with a huff. "Oops, I mean all of _SHIELD's secrets_." Steve's features turn grim, his lips tightening into a straight, reproachful line. "Too soon?" she asks with a grin.

He shakes his head. "She released everything?"

"Everything."

"Even –"

"Everything, Steve."

The two share a look that Sam can't quite identify and he's struck by how well they must know each other. Tessa had told him all about being there for Steve after he came out of the ice, being his SHIELD-appointed doctor at first, but rather quickly becoming his friend as well.

They'd had several hours together with not much to do once the debrief with him and Nat had finished. So she filled him in on their story – meeting in a hospital setting after Steve had been thawed, helping him acclimate to the 21st century when it became clear no one else was going to. She'd advised him, repeatedly, _not_ to get involved with SHIELD or any initiative designed by them. Screamed bloody murder at him for putting on the uniform again so soon after coming out of the ice _and_ agreeing to sign on with the Avengers. After that, she'd decided that he owed her, in part for not heeding her advice and making her worry, and in part for very purposefully leaving her out of the action during the battle for New York. (How exactly she would've or could've been involved in the action, Sam couldn't get out of her.) She made Steve introduce her to Tony Stark, which he did with extreme reluctance. And she somehow managed to get a rather coveted position in Stark Industries' newly created medical research division. Steve moved to DC to lead a team of SHIELD operatives, though both he and Natasha still stayed on in some capacity with the Avengers. And now… well, now they were here.

"Romanov said she'd be back for Fury's memorial," Sam mentions. "It's supposed to be this weekend."

Steve turns to Tessa and arches a questioning eyebrow. "Yeah," she says with a nod. "I know. Nat told me. He'll be laying low for now."

"Sorry to disappoint you," he says. "I know you hate the guy."

She's quick to correct him. "I don't _hate_ Fury." She lets out a frustrated sort of huff. "Didn't I tell you not to trust SHIELD?"

He nods solemnly. "Yeah, you did."

"Fuck." She glances over at Sam and sees him watching her carefully. "I always knew they were filled with megalomaniacal assholes."

"Tess," Steve says softly, taking her hand. She looks down at him, her anger fading. "Did Sam tell you about Bucky?"

She nods slowly. "He did."

"And what… happened to him? Did he tell you what Hydra did?" Again, she gives a curt nod. "I have to find him."

Sam had told her much more than just what Hydra did to Bucky Barnes. He had filled her in on what Bucky Barnes, AKA the Winter Soldier, had to done to Steve. And to Natasha. And to Sam's car. So she wasn't exactly optimistic about this reunion Steve was angling for. But she also understood, better than most maybe, that just because someone seems bad doesn't mean they really are. And just because someone seems too far gone, doesn't mean they can't be brought back.

"Okay," she says simply. "Let's find him."

She looks up at Sam and is met with a confident grin. "I'm in," he tells them both. "As long as somebody reimburses me for my car."


	2. Chapter 2

The trail runs cold pretty damn fast. Actually, it seems as though there never was any trail at all, which is exactly what he'd intended. Sure, the Winter Soldier had been a pawn of Hydra, doing their will, completing their missions, seemingly doing only _precisely_ what they directed him to do. But it's not as though he was sent into the field with absolutely no autonomy. He wouldn't have been as successful as he was had they not trained him well, and had he not come into it with certain abilities of his own. Clearly he didn't _need_ Hydra to be an effective operative.

He knew how to hide, how to either fit in seamlessly with his surroundings or lean back into the shadows to escape detection. He knew how to get around without money or supplies. He knew how to get any supplies he may need. He knew how to evade and how to disappear. What he didn't know – from the moment he pulled Captain America's body from the Potomac – was what the hell he was going to do now.

 _Bucky Barnes._ That name had been plaguing him for weeks now. Months? How long had it been? He wasn't used to so much time passing so uneventfully. He wasn't used to so many days passing without being sent out on a mission, made to train, or sent back to prep for cryo. He'd counted the days at first, got as far as 15 before his mind turned to mush and he started to lose track.

Once the memories began to flood in, the days and nights all started running together. Nightmares, delusions, hallucinations, memories… he wasn't really sure what was what. When he went to the Smithsonian and saw the Captain America exhibit – read all about Sargent James "Bucky" Barnes, looked into still photos and moving images of a man who shared his face, his features… all so familiar but for the bright smile the young man held – he had been able to take it all in with a sort of deep-seated interest, the kind he'd experienced when prepping for a particularly difficult or involved mission. It was research. Nothing more.

Now, though, now the images he saw in that museum were playing over and over and over again in his mind. Now, he can see Steve Rogers and all of the Howling Commandos moving _outside_ of those old photographs. He sees the men in full color. He hears their voices. Dernier's soft accent as he attempts to swear in English. Dum-Dum Dugan's hearty chuckle rolling over the din of far-off gunfire. Steve's voice, chiding playfully, "Buck."

Sometimes he feels a hand on his shoulder, a strong hand that grips him fiercely, gives a quick squeeze that he somehow knows means _you're good._ It's startling and confusing and so, so comforting all at once.

Hydra's gone. The longer he goes without being wiped, the further the asset gets buried back into the recesses of his mind. Maybe one day he'll be gone too. He's pretty sure that Bucky Barnes is gone as well, at least the Bucky Barnes in old newsreels. But he can feel him, nudging from his subconscious. Sometimes he can hear him telling him to get his shit together. _Get your head on straight, soldier._ Sometimes he can hear him mumbling in the darkness only to realize that his own mouth is moving in time.

 _Find him_ , he says. _Find Steve. He'll help._ He tries to brush him off, but one thing he's quickly learning about Sargent Barnes is that he's stubborn as a mule. _Find. Him._

He leaves DC. He goes to New York, sees Steve there, settling into a new life. He watches as the blond man navigates the city and dives into Central Park for a run nearly every morning. He takes note of the brunette on his arm who seems to guide him for blocks before pulling him into a small café on the corner. They do this a few times a week, sometimes smiling and laughing as they walk, other times speaking in serious, hushed tones as they trudge through the streets. He sees him stop outside of the massive building where he now lives to sign autographs with a gracious smile that he just _knows_ is about as sincere as the word of his previous handlers.

He leaves New York, follows the awfully conspicuous trail left by the small team that seems to be in search of him. In search of Hydra and the Winter Soldier. He follows them to a place that doesn't look familiar at all, and he finds himself laughing, actually laughing, as he hides behind the tree line. For all the serum and the enhanced abilities and the intense training, _you're still the same old punk… always thinking you know more than you really do._

He lingers there in the distance just long enough to see, to almost viscerally feel, the disappointment in the captain. _He'll help, you idiot._

"Steve," he says aloud, realizing with a sharp intake of breath that it was loud enough to be heard. The name sounds… perfectly normal coming from his mouth, like a recitation he'd done a million times before. He tries it out again, feels it roll over his tongue, through his teeth and lips. "Steve."

He hears the reply of "Bucky?" He finds himself nodding in response. _Bucky. Bucky Barnes._ It sounds right. It sounds wrong. It makes him want to flee back into the dense woods. It makes him want to fall headlong into the captain's arms.

"Steve," he says again, no other words coming to him.

"Bucky." He feels it then, feels that strong hand on his shoulder, the quick, comforting squeeze. "Bucky," he hears once more, before his brain seems to tick and sputter and all reality comes crashing down around him.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve always hated going to the doctor. Always. They very rarely seemed to help him when he was a kid, instead issuing out lame advice like, stay indoors and don't play so rough. And all too often his mother heeded their words, locking him away in the apartment to watch all the other kids play stickball in the alley. But did that keep him from getting sick? Nooo. And when an asthma attack happened during his quarantine, what advice did the doctors give him? Get out more. Get some fresh air. The apartment's probably too dusty.

From a very young age, Steve Rogers was taught that doctors are only out to make your life miserable.

Then there were the doctors who relentlessly poked and prodded him post-serum, each one eager to find something – perhaps a sickness that the serum couldn't fix or prevent, maybe a side effect that just took time to show itself. Sometimes doctors would enter the room and just stare at him, as though he were a fascinating marvel in a circus sideshow.

"Well, you kinda are," Tessa tells him as she snaps on a pair of latex gloves.

He gives her a disappointed, almost motherly look. "I am not a specimen," he tells her, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"You are a medical miracle. That serum is one of the greatest inventions of the 20th century… of _any_ century."

"But the serum isn't me."

"Sit," she tells him as she approaches. He goes from leaning up against the exam table to reluctantly sitting atop it, the paper crinkling beneath him. "I know it isn't you," she says, taking hold of his left arm and inspecting the faded bruises. "But it's a pretty damn big part of you. And like it or not, it's the part that's most visible. Especially to doctors."

"I just don't like being treated like a science experiment," he sulks.

"How's the range of motion?" she asks, her fingers gently probing along his shoulder. He lifts his arm above his head and rotates it in a large arc to show. "Good." She steps back and snaps off the gloves, leans against the wall opposite him. "You get how amazing this is, right? You dislocated your shoulder two days ago, and now it's basically healed."

"Yeah, I know. But – "

"Would you blame someone for staring at a person who could fly? Or who could… freeze things just by touching them?" He cocks his head at her, a little confused. "Yeah, it's a thing. I had a friend who could do it."

"Fly or freeze things?"

"Freeze things."

"Really?"

"Ah," she starts, waggling her finger at him. "You see? It's _fascinating_. Out of the ordinary. Amazing! Why wouldn't people want to see that?"

He hops down off of the exam table and grabs his shirt from the chair off to the side. "Out of curiosity, if you're so comfortable with people ogling… _enhanced_ individuals, why are you hiding who you are?" He raises a brow at her, quirks his head.

"That's not the point," she replies, smile fading. "And for the record, you signed up for this. You agreed to take the serum. You allowed them to dub you Captain America. You went on a freaking USO tour."

"Tessa… I'm just trying to explain to you why I don't like doctors."

"But _I'm_ a doctor," she whines.

"You're my friend." He pulls the T-shirt back on over his head and looks her square in the eye. "And that's mostly because you were able to see past the _amazing_ and just see me."

"Yeah," she sighs. "I am pretty great."

"Definitely," he says with a laugh. "Now can I be cleared for duty?"

"Yeah, of course," she says reaching around him and grabbing a tablet off the desk. She taps a few times, swipes all the way down without actually reading the form on the screen, and scrawls a messy signature with her index finger. " _But_ , you can't leave yet."

"What? Why not?"

She tosses the tablet onto the chair beside them and turns to peek through the closed blinds on the window. "Because as soon as you walk out of here, Claire is going to come in and lay a million problems on me."

He lets out a small chuckle. "Welcome to heading up your own team."

"Ugh," she breathes out dramatically. "It's not just that. I mean, it is. And I never said I wanted this either."

Steve places his hand on her bicep and gives her a reassuring squeeze. "You're a good doctor."

"I'm barely even a clinician," she interrupts.

"And we all trust you," he continues, unfazed. "You _should_ be the one running the tier 1 med team."

"I think Tony just thinks that if I'm closer to the action I'll decide to jump in."

"He'd make you a hell of a suit."

"I already have a suit. And I don't wear it for a reason." She sulks for a long moment, actually sticking out her bottom lip like a toddler. "I just want to do my research."

"Didn't Tony give you a whole staff for your lab?"

"He gave me Max and four interns. And Claire."

"And that's not enough?"

She stares down at the floor for a long moment, grinding her toe into the tile. It is enough. To make sure that the lab stays up and running. But she wants to be the one running it, and lately it feels like Max has been doing most of the day to day stuff, leaving her stuck on the outside looking in. "How's your friend?" she asks, finally looking up at him.

"Changing the subject so soon?" he asks with a smile and a wink. She only glares in response. Steve leans back against the exam table and lets out a long sigh, his face turning more serious. "Bucky's fine. Or as fine as he can be, I guess."

"It's been, what, six weeks?"

He nods. It's been almost four months since the Triskelion fell, the entire event ending for Steve with his best friend turned cold blooded assassin dragging him from the Potomac. Bucky didn't exactly disappear after that. He actually followed Steve for a little more than two months. Followed him upstate once he left DC, taking some time for a little R&R. Then he followed him back to New York when Steve gave into Tony's pleas to join up with the Avengers full time. He even followed him up to Ontario when the ragtag group of superheroes went on a recon mission to find more about old Hydra bases. That was where Steve spotted him, when he casually stepped out from behind some trees as though he'd been waiting for him there all along.

 _That_ was six weeks ago. The crazy mission in Ontario, the bizarre conversation with a man who so looked like his friend yet was so obviously _not him_ , at least not entirely. The decision to bring him home and help him rediscover who he actually is, or was. "Yeah, six weeks."

"I guess he's still just staying holed up in your place… acclimating?" Steve nods again, a sadness filling his eyes. "It's kind of starting to cut into our time together."

That brings a hint of a smile to his face. "Yeah, sorry we haven't been able to have movie night in a while. Although it really seems like you're the one who blew it off the last few times."

Her hand flies to her chest, an expression of mock horror taking over her features. "Blew it off?! I was trapped here," she says, flailing her arms to indicate the tight exam room. "Or in the lab."

"You love to work," he says, shaking his head and chuckling. "This place is your life."

She merely shrugs. "Well you could've come to see me in the lab, brought me some of your mom's chicken soup to keep me going. You _used_ to do that sort of thing for me."

"I'm sorry." He takes a step closer and places his hand on her shoulder, gives her a firm squeeze and says with utter sincerity. "I promise I'll make you some soup soon."

"That's all I ask."

He chuckles again before saying, "Actually, I was thinking that maybe you could meet him."

She glances up only to find that Steve has averted his gaze and is now nervously staring at the door in front of them. "Bucky? Sure. I wanted to meet him when he first came here. Or check him out at least. You did promise that you'd get him to the med floor and I've yet to see him."

"Yeah, he hasn't really been totally… stable." He looks over and connects eyes with her. "He's just… he's figuring things out, I guess. Hydra did a lot to him."

"Torture?"

He takes a few steps back and straightens himself in that way that indicates the beginning of a _very_ serious talk. "I'm sure. And brainwashing… programming, he calls it. He's not himself."

"Steve, if you expect him to ever be the carefree kid you grew up with, you're just gonna be disappointed."

His shoulders slump rather dramatically and he gives a half-hearted shrug. "I know. But I want him to be… I don't know. I guess I just want him to be okay." She nods slowly. "When I came out of the ice, I was lost. I didn't know where I was, and I didn't really know _who_ I was. And it's different with him, I know it is. I was never… programmed or anything. But just being in a totally different world…"

"Well, what did you do that helped? What got through that lost period?"

"I'm not sure I am through it," he says with a sort of self-deprecating smirk. Then, looking up at Tessa, " _You_ helped, though. You helped a lot."

She nods again, a serious look on her face. "Movie nights can do wonders for emotional healing."

He laughs heartily. "Yes. Yes, they can."

"So you want me to come over and make nice with your assassin friend," she states, no question needed.

"Would you mind?"

"I don't mind. Tony told me not to go near him, so I've already been thinking about just dropping by anyway." She shoots Steve a smile when his face falls yet again.

"It's just… you were one of the only people who treated me like a real person. Even though you're a _doctor_ ," he finishes with a hint of disgust.

"Careful," she tells him, aiming a sharp index finger at him. "I can still revoke that form clearing you for duty."


	4. Chapter 4

"He's just…" he hears Steve lament from the other room, "he's not adjusting." He sounds so defeated, and that pulls at something in Bucky's chest. He feels for the man, he does. They're friends – _whatever that means_ – and have been, well, forever. But even though he _knows_ that, he can't say that he really _feels_ it. Not yet anyway. Not in the way that Steve so obviously needs. "He knows who he is," Steve goes on, "I mean, he isn't… _all_ there. But he does know. And understand."

"Steve," a female voice interrupts and Bucky jolts a bit. He's not sure what he expected, or who he expected Steve to be talking to, but it definitely was not the owner of that voice. "He's been a prisoner for 70 years. I think we can give him a little more than a few weeks to come around." She sounds… confident, maybe a little patronizing. And he can't help but smirk a bit at that. _Yeah, Steve_ , he thinks, _patience is a virtue. Didn't your ma teach you that?_

There's a long, loud sigh, then a knock on the door. "Buck? Hey, there's someone I want you to meet," Steve says as he slowly turns the knob. "Bucky?" he questions again, peeking his head into the dark room.

"Yeah," Bucky responds, slowly rising from his position in the far corner.

Steve comes in and flips on the light and Bucky squints at the sudden brightness that floods the room. "This is Tessa," Steve says, moving out of the way to reveal a brunette woman. "Or…Dr. Sullivan?" he questions her. She smirks in response and he turns back to Bucky with an amused smile. "I've told you about her."

Bucky assesses her carefully as his eyes adjust. She's average height, which is rather short compared to Steve, of course. Her hair's pulled back into a messy bun on the top of her head, dark curls falling loosely from it. And she's dressed in cutoff shorts and a hooded sweatshirt. _Doctor. Right,_ he thinks. He continues to stare at her, his gaze turning hard as he says, "I don't need a doctor."

She looks right at him as she speaks, completely unfazed by his prickly demeanor. "I'm not a shrink, if that's what you're thinking." He watches as she slowly moves closer to him, seemingly unafraid. _What are you doing? Back up._ "I'm sort of the head doctor around here. I mean," she drops her eyes and sheepishly says, "I _am_ the lead physician… for the team. Even if I don't really _do_ anything." She drops down to take a seat on the bed in front of him before tossing a glance behind her at Steve.

"I told you about her, Buck. Remember?" Steve tries, moving to the woman's side. "Tessa… she's my friend. And she really helped me out when I… woke up."

Bucky gives him a tired glare. "I don't need a friend either."

Tessa barks out a laugh and he stiffens as his eyes veer back to her. "You're full of shit," she mutters.

Steve places a silencing hand on her shoulder. "Fine," he says to his Bucky. "You don't want any more friends, that's fine. But Tessa and I used to have movie nights together. And sometimes we'd go for runs in the mornings."

Tessa issues out a loud, mocking scoff, earning her a glare from Steve.

He turns back to Bucky and continues. "Or we'd go out for coffee. The point is, I want her to come over here again. And I want you to join us when she does."

Bucky stands completely still, face unreadable. He says nothing. He barely even blinks.

"You know," she says suddenly, cutting into the silence. "Aside from just being an awesome friend, I might actually be able to help you… in other ways. I've been trying to get Steve to bring you down to medical since you got here. Just to check you out."

"No," he growls, body still unmoving.

"Well," she goes on, "I know you've been having some trouble with your memory. There might be something I could do to help with that. If it's being caused by – or just impacted by – something physical. At least we could run some tests and see."

He flinches at her words, just the tiniest bit, but both she and Steve notice. "No," he says louder than intended, fear evident in his voice. "No tests."

He assumes that his words – and his intimidating stance – will shut her down and make her leave. But she doesn't shrink away from him. Instead she looks up at him with big bright green eyes. And in those eyes is… understanding. Not fear. Not pity. Not condescension. Understanding. She looks right at him with those eyes, and she says, "Okay. When you're ready, we'll do some scans. Just to see if there's anything that requires attention. When you're ready." _Then_ she gets up from the bed and casually walks out of the room.

The next day Bucky, rather reluctantly, goes down to the medical floor for a CT.


	5. Chapter 5

"You know what telomeres are?"

Bucky just stares at the back of her head as she speaks. Over her shoulder he can see her computer screen, presumably showing the results of his bloodwork. It had taken him nearly two weeks to agree to let her stick him. In his experience, nothing good ever came from having a needle jammed in your arm. But she kept telling him that genetics were her specialty and she could do more to help him if she knew more about his building blocks, whatever that meant. So he finally relented, sitting so still that he barely breathed as she carefully inserted the needle – _See, barely a pinch_ – and filled two vials with blood.

"No, I guess you probably don't," she says, still scrolling through the information on the screen. "Or wouldn't. Why would you?" she asks, whipping around in her chair to finally face him. "Right?" She smiles at him, like she so often does. He likes her smile. Not that he'd ever admit that. It's not really an engaging smile, a _hi, stranger, how you doing?_ kind of smile. It's more playful, like the two of them are sharing some kind of joke. Only he never actually knows what that joke is.

He continues to stare at her, almost through her, as he says simply, "No."

She pushes across the lab in her wheeled office chair, grabbing onto the metal counter in front of him to stop herself. She looks up at him and exhales a deep breath. "Okay," she starts, folding her hands together and leaning on the countertop. She eyes him a little more intensely and raises a single brow. "You could sit," she says, some annoyance in her voice.

He knows that she hates it when he just stands there in the lab or the clinic – _looming_ , she calls it, stretching the word out with bitter irritation. _It makes me nervous._ He likes that it makes her nervous. He likes that he can actually do something to make her nervous. She never seems intimidated by him or afraid of him. And quite frankly, that makes _him_ nervous.

He grabs the stool next to him and sits down on the very edge, his body poised to spring up and into action at a moment's notice.

"Right," she starts again, her shoulders relaxing. "Telomeres are like protective endcaps for our DNA. Think of them like the little plastic pieces on the ends of shoelaces." He cocks his head and raises his eyebrows at her, and she gives a slight chuckle. "They keep the laces from getting frayed." He nods once – _okay, go on_. "Every time a cell replicates, the telomeres essentially shrink. This is normal. This is aging. The older we get, the more our cells replicate, the shorter our telomeres become, and the less stable those cells end up being. Our skin becomes less elastic. Our organ function declines. Our neurons fire less rapidly. And eventually we die."

She looks into his eyes to make sure he's following. As per usual, he doesn't say a word, offers only a nod in response. "Well," she goes on, "there's this enzyme – telomerase – that can actually elongate telomeres, so to speak. It's largely absent in our cells, but for stem cells. And Cancer cells, the little bastards. Anyway, your cells have a shit ton of telomerase in them."

He looks at her and confusedly asks, "Cancer?"

"No," she shakes her head rapidly. "Cancer is really nothing more than aberrant cells taking over the body. Your cells are completely healthy. And because they have telomerase in them, they can continue to divide, well, inevitably. Maybe. Probably not quite. There's probably still some limit. But, in a nut shell, your cells don't age."

His eyes shift away from her face, look out at nothing while he processes the information. "How?" he asks finally.

She shrugs. "I don't know. There are some similarities between your cellular structure and Steve's. He's filled with telomerase too. So I imagine that this is in reaction to the serum. It could be part of what leads to your rapid healing. See, in order for your body to heal, new cells have to form. New cells come from old ones, from replication. To heal as fast as you do, as fast as Steve does, the cells have to replicate at an astronomical rate. By introducing this enzyme into the mix, they've ensured that the cells can reproduce as often as needed while still maintaining full continuity. Smart, really. I mean, considering that we didn't even realize the importance of telomeres until decades after you and Steve, well, died."

"So," he starts, his face still twisted with confusion, "what does that mean? For me?"

Again she shrugs. "Means you're impervious. Genetically speaking." She gazes at him for a moment, her face softening. "It means you'll age slower than the rest of us. You'll heal faster, which you already knew. And you'll be able to maintain healthy cell growth, which means you likely won't ever get Cancer or any sort of degenerative disease. Congratulations on that."

He lets out a quick sigh, makes eye contact with her again, says, with a bit of lilt to his voice. "Well at least there's that."

She laughs softly, still holding eye contact. It's rare that he actually looks at her. More often than not, he simply watches her when she isn't looking and then averts eye contact as soon as her eyes meet his. Or he'll stare straight through her. When he actually looks at her like this, though, these are the moments when she can see what it is that Steve's been fighting so hard to save. These are the moments when she can see the man buried inside the soldier. "You're a lucky man, Bucky Barnes," she says to him with a grin.

He scoffs. "I hate when people call me that." She quirks her head at him and wrinkles her brow quizzically. " _Bucky_ ," he says simply. "I hate when people call me that."

"Because you don't remember being him?" she asks.

He shakes his head and lets his gaze fall from her face to the floor. "Because I'm not him," he says with a sigh. "I'm just not."

"Should I call you Mr. Barnes, then?"

He laughs suddenly, an odd sort of gasping cackle. It sounds like he's unsure how to laugh, like his body may have actually forgotten how to make the sound.

"You're a Sargent," she corrects herself, coy smile perking her lips. "Sargent Barnes?"

He looks up at her, his eyes bright in a way she's never seen. And this time, when he meets her gaze, he doesn't look away. "Call me James."


	6. Chapter 6

"Alright," she says, snapping off the latex gloves, "You are done here." She tosses the gloves in the bin, makes some final notes on his chart, and grabs her coat off the back of her chair. "C'mon," she says, smiling over at him. "You are no longer my patient – well until your next physical – so I can ethically buy you a cup of coffee." He watches her as she whips around the small clinic room, quickly gathering her things, which seem to be scattered all about. He hadn't moved since she began the blood draw – the _final_ blood draw apparently – several minutes earlier. She glances over her shoulder at him as she prepares to flip off the lights and lock up the room. "Come on," she whines impatiently. "I'm starving and I need some coffee."

He gets up and follows her out. "Why do I have to come with you?"

"You don't," she says trying to work her arms into the fluffy coat. He grabs the back of the collar and holds it open for her so that she can get situated. "Thanks," she replies before turning to face him. "Technically, you aren't supposed to leave the tower unescorted. I think that policy is bullshit, but I don't make the rules. Anyway, I just thought I'd be nice and _escort_ you to the bakery down on the corner where we can get some croissants and coffee. A celebratory, _you no longer have to be a test subject_ treat. On me."

He hesitates only briefly. Truth is, he's losing his shit in this place. And as much as he hates the cold, he's kind of desperate for some fresh air. "I'll get my coat," he says turning toward the stairs.

They meet at the rear entrance to the building, the private one that only people with a certain security clearance have access to. And they walk down the block to the little bakery on the corner. As soon as they enter, Bucky's overwhelmed with a feeling of calm. It's the smell. The smell of fresh baked bread and cookies, and freshly brewed coffee. "Good morning, Dr. Sullivan," the older man behind the counter greets. "Coffee black and a fresh croissant?"

She makes a beeline for the counter and nods at the man. "Yes please. Make it two."

The bakery is largely empty, the morning rush having ended about an hour earlier. He can't help but be pleased about that. He likes being in crowds when on the street – they're easier to blend into, to seamlessly move in and out of. But if the plan is to sit and enjoy a cup of coffee, he'd really prefer not to have anyone else around.

While Tessa chats with the man at the counter, Bucky finds a table in the back corner of the room. He sits with his back to the wall so he can see the street through the large plate glass windows. From this angle, he can see anyone approaching the entrance, and he can also see a bit of the back rooms to ensure no one gets the drop on him from back there either.

"I see you've found the safest seat in the house," she quips, coming over with two cups of coffee and a plate with croissants. He jumps up to help her, taking the two mugs off her hands and setting them on the table. "I didn't know how you like it, so I just got black."

"That's fine," he says, waiting for her to sit before lowering himself back into his chair. He watches as she dumps far too much sugar into her coffee and begins swirling it with a small spoon. _There's no way that's all going to dissolve,_ he thinks to himself. "What did you mean, the safest seat in the house?" he asks absently, still watching her stir.

She looks over her shoulder at the front windows, throws a glance behind toward the back hall. "You don't have to be a soldier to know a good vantage point," she says, gingerly taking a sip from the mug. "So," she says, setting it down, "Steve said that you might start training with the rest of the team?"

He lets out a sort of _psht_ before saying, "I don't know about that. They still think I'm… well, what I am."

He expects her to react as Steve would to that, tell him that what he _is_ isn't bad, or some such nonsense. What he gets instead is, "Yeah, you don't want to be part of a team that doesn't trust you."

He looks at her closely. There's something in the way she says those words, some sort of commiserative knowledge, that makes him wonder about just who this woman before him really is. "Why'd you get into this anyway?" he asks, realizing as soon as the words leave his mouth that it's a question he's been wanting to ask her for some time.

"What do you mean?" she asks, wrinkling her brow at him. "With the Avengers?"

"No," he says with a quick shake of his head. "Well, yeah. But I mean, all of it… the Avengers, Stark… being a doctor?"

She shrugs and begins to pick at the croissant in front of her. "I don't know. Why does anyone want to be a doctor? To help people, I guess."

"But, the genetic stuff. That's your specialty, right?" She nods. "And Steve said you worked for SHIELD."

"No," she spits out quickly. Then, looking him dead in the eye and speaking with a sort of hardness he hadn't yet heard from her, "I never worked _for_ SHIELD." She lets her shoulders relax a bit and brings another small piece of food to her mouth. "I did some contract work with them. Only as a favor to an old friend. And I guess that, in the end, it was the right decision because it got me here. But I never actually worked for SHIELD, and I never would."

"Isn't working for Stark kinda the same thing?" he asks, genuinely curious.

She shakes her head and takes another sip of her coffee. "Tony lets me choose what I work on. For the most part. I help him with certain Stark Industries projects and he leaves me to my research. SHIELD… they had a mission. And it never really lined up with my mission, I guess you could say."

"I know that it ended up Hydra was part of SHIELD. Or SHIELD was part of Hydra. But weren't they the good guys? Or supposed to be, anyway?"

She shrugs her shoulders and gazes absently at the mug in her hands. "Depends who you ask, I guess. Or who you are."

"Okay," he says, his brain suddenly doing somersaults inside his skull, "So who are you?"

She sets down the mug and looks across the table at him, takes a long pause before saying, "I chose to study genetic _stuff_ because I believe it has the potential to truly change the world. Our DNA…" she turns her eyes away from him, shifting her gaze off to the corner of the room. "Well, I guess that's who I am. I am who my genes say I am." She lets out a long, dejected sounding sigh.

"And me?" he asks, an edge to his voice. "Am I just what my genes say I am? Just a guy who's… what did you call it? _Impervious_?"

"You're probably a bit more than that," she replies with a small smirk.

"Is that what you're studying, though? People like me? Like Steve?" His tone is accusatory, almost threatening. "You want to do this to more people?"

Her eyes suddenly go wide, a realization hitting her. "No," she says, more of a squeak than anything. "No I don't want to…" She looks at him nearly fuming across from her. "No, it's not like that," she says, dropping her gaze back down to her mug.

"What's it like then?"

She sighs and closes her eyes, rubs the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger as though trying to keep a headache at bay. "Mutation occurs in nature too. That's what I study." Then, looking back up at him, locking eyes, "What they did to you, they had no right. At least Steve volunteered. But really, he didn't know what he was getting into. Back in the day, testing on human subjects wasn't prohibited in the way it is now. So maybe… I don't know. Maybe they didn't realize the implications." She shakes her head rather fiercely. "I don't believe it was right, making the supersoldier serum. _Using_ the serum. Any of it. I think it was a fascinating blunder of postmodern science."

He lets his body relax back into the chair a bit as he asks, not entirely satisfied, "So you don't want to make anything… like that?"

"Like the serum? No." She takes a deep breath before saying, "We don't need it anyway. Nature can handle mutation all on its own. And quite frankly, the trial and error out there is bad enough without megalomaniacal scientists getting involved."

They sit in silence for a long moment, Bucky finally taking a few sips of his coffee. It's good coffee. _I'll have to remember this place,_ he thinks, _if they ever let me off my leash_. She continues to pick apart her croissant, piece by piece, and he mumbles, "You eat like a rabbit."

"I know," she says with a small laugh.

"So," he starts to say, shifting in seat. "So, that's why you got into it, then? Genetics? To save the world?"

She looks at him long and hard, clearly assessing something, though he's not quite sure what. "Tell you what," she says finally, a crooked smile on her face, "you buy me dinner sometime and I'll tell you all about it."

He smirks in response. But he most definitely does not refuse.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's note:** So yeah, most of this was written a while ago, which is why I'm just throwing chapter after chapter up. But these next few are the ones that I actually really enjoy... hopefully you do too!

* * *

He's not really sure what he feels when he watches her. To be honest, anymore, he's not entirely sure what he feels just navigating a day. _Feeling_ isn't something he's been allowed to do in a quite a while. And while he's been out of Hydra's grasp for several months now, this whole _feeling what you're feeling_ thing still – for lack of a better word – _feels_ rather foreign to him.

But it's different with her. With Steve, there's an odd mix of affection – because this is his friend, his only friend, really – and guilt – because, let's face it, not only did he not recognize his _best friend_ on the helicarrier that day, but he actually tried to kill him. Even now, there are times when Steve makes a joke that he doesn't get or reminisces about a time he can't recall, and waves of guilt roll over him, the sense that he's somehow failing his friend far overshadowing any warmth or affection.

And with the others, well, it's confusing with the others. Sometimes he feels welcome, but rarely does he feel accepted or like he belongs. Sometimes he feels interest, but it's often colored by the lingering disillusionment and suspicion that Hydra bred into him. Rarely does he feel trusted, or trusting. And often he feels… scared.

But Tessa makes him feel… _what is it?_ Does he find her attractive? Of course he does. She's gorgeous. So maybe it's desire that he feels. But it seems like it's more than that. She makes him smile. She makes him… lighter.

He finds himself looking forward to their coffee runs on the weekends, and it's only in part due to the amazing coffee and croissants. When he sees her lounging in the common room – even though he typically pops in with the intention of grabbing a piece of fruit and hightailing it back to less _common_ areas – he somehow ends up glued to the sofa next her. And watching her now, stumbling upon her in the gym this afternoon… well…

"What are you doing?" he asks her as he approaches the mat she's currently splayed out on. It takes everything in him to hold back a smirk as he looms over her prone body.

She rolls over and glances up at him, sweat pooling around her. "I have a test," she says with a groan.

He offers his hand and she lamely accepts, obviously not really wanting to get up. "What kind of test?"

She barely has her feet under her when he pulls her up into a standing position, and he has to grab her by the forearms to steady her. She lets out a sort of _oomph_ before wiping some sweat from her brow. "Tony insists that everyone on the Tier 1 medical team pass a physical fitness and self-defense tactical _test_. Think of it like the Presidential Fitness bullshit from elementary school." She notices the confused look on his face. "Of course, you don't know what that is."

"It sounds like a good idea, though," he says with a quirk of his eyebrow. "Do you go in the field?"

"Not if I can help it." She moves over to the bench and grabs her water bottle, starts chugging like she's been running through the desert. When she turns back to face Bucky, he's holding out a towel for her. "Thanks."

"So this _test_ , what are you graded on?"

"Beauty and poise, obviously," she says, swiping the towel across her face before slinging it over her shoulder. He lets out a small laugh, shaking his head as he turns away. "I saw that," she intones.

He turns back to her, face expressionless. "What?"

"You smiled. You laughed."

"I did not," he returns, a petulant tone to his voice.

"You did too. Big old scary assassin," she mocks.

"I _barely_ chuckled."

"You think I'm funny," she singsongs.

"I think you're hopeless." He tries desperately for deadpan, but the corner of his mouth just can't help but quirk up, especially when her face transforms into an exaggerated frown. "I saw you sparring with Sam," he continues. "It was pretty bad."

"It wasn't that bad," she defends.

"It was bad," he repeats, a teasing glint in his eye.

"So, what, you were just watching us from the shadows?" He points up to the balcony that overlooks the expansive gym. "There are shadows up there," she shrugs. He chuckles again, this time not bothering to hide it. It's getting easier for him – laughing, smiling, _emoting positively_ , as his Steve-appointed shrink would say. But it still feels… strange. "Well if it was so bad, why didn't you just come down here and help, then?" she asks, hands on her hips. "Hm?"

He drops his gaze to the ground, not entirely sure how to respond. "Didn't want to interrupt."

"Mm-hmm," she mutters. "Didn't want to talk to Sam, you mean." His head shoots up, eyes wide. She lets out a quick laugh. "Oh c'mon, you're not fooling anybody. You _hate_ the guy."

"I don't hate him," he says softly. "I just don't like him."

She shakes her head. "You're jealous because he's Steve's friend. Positively green with envy." He gives her a warning look. "I'm Steve's friend too, you know. Jealous of me?"

He looks down again, an almost ashamed expression on his face. "It's not the same thing."

"Because I'm a girl?"

"Yeah," he says, quirking his eyebrow, "because you're a girl."

"Men are so dumb," she breathes out. Her eyes turn to gaze out the large wall of windows, watching as the rain picks up into a driving force. He watches her closely, studies her face as it relaxes. There's still a hint of pink in her cheeks and on her forehead, flush from exertion. Beads of sweat continue to gather at her hairline while a few large droplets fall from her wavy hair. He notices the way the shorter, loose strands around her face curl up into tiny spirals. It makes him want to take her hair down, lose the ponytail, and just see how her wild hair would spring up. It makes him want to take down her hair and run his fingers through it.

When she looks back over at him, he quickly turns away, trying to make it seem as though he wasn't just staring at her like some kind of creep. "Want me to show you a few things?" he offers after a moment, turning back to her. She doesn't respond, simply smiles big and bright and nods. He takes hold of her wrist and she quickly twists her hand to easily flip it out of his grip. "Oh," he says with a smile of his own, "we've already started?"

"You can't get away from drunken, grinding idiots at the clubs without mastering a basic wrist release," she says as she takes her stance and eyes him up, rolling her shoulders in preparation.

"I'm not entirely sure what that means, but I do like your confidence." She starts to circle him and he can't help the laugh that escapes his lips. "Do you think I'm gonna tackle you?"

"Master assassin," she quips, clapping her hands together, "there's no telling what you might do." She winks at him as her hands come up.

"That's a good fight stance," he tells her, twisting to watch her as she continues to circle him. "Out of curiosity," he starts, crooked smile plastered on his face, "is your primary defensive technique making someone too dizzy to attack you?"

She stops suddenly and drops her hands to her hips. "Yes, actually. It is."

The moment she loses her stance, he pounces, dropping down and charging at her middle. She's immediately knocked off balance as he circles his arms around her hips and easily flips her to the mat. The takedown, while surprising to her, is more than gentle, as he maintains his hold on her the entire time, making sure she rolls down rather than slams. But that doesn't stop her from uttering an exaggerated, "Ow," as he pushes himself up to his knees next to her.

"That didn't hurt," he tells her, reaching out his hand. "And for the record, the most important thing to remember is to never let your guard down."

"Uh huh," she breathes out, still splayed on the mat. She reaches for his hand and he obliges. But the second she grabs his wrist she surprises him by throwing her leg over his head. Her other hand comes up to take hold of his forearm as she pulls back on his arm while bringing her leg down across his body with all of her might. Obviously, she's no match for him in strength. But he's caught completely off guard and his balance is shot the moment he leans back to avoid her leg. Before he knows it, his back is flat on the mat and she has her left leg straddling his chest, the right pinning him at the throat, and damn if she isn't putting her all into one hell of an arm bar.

"Okay," he grunts, tapping her thigh. "Okay," again, as she releases him. He sits up and glares over at her.

She smiles at him innocently. "Never let my guard down," she says with a nod. "Got it."

"Why don't you just tell me what you want to work on," he says, pulling himself up off the mat.

She looks up at him and extends her hand as though asking for help up. But he just stares at her, one eyebrow raised. "Fine," she huffs. "I guess, if I'm being _completely_ honest, I need some help getting out of choke holds. Of any kind." She looks down sheepishly, scuffing her toe into the mat.

"Okay," he says, twirling his finger as a dictate for her to turn around. He comes up behind her slowly and wraps his right arm across her body, his forearm pressing into her clavicle. "This is probably more likely than any kind of forward choke." He pulls her closer to him, tilting his head a bit to avoid her thick ponytail. "And really, if you let someone get to your throat while they're in front of you… well, you definitely wouldn't pass any test I gave."

"And you're the expert, I suppose," she says with a small laugh. But he can hear something her voice. And he feels it in her body too. The closer his arm moves to her neck, the tighter all of her muscles become. She's nervous. Scared.

"Just relax," he nearly whispers to her, her ear so close to his lips. "I'm not going to hurt you."

She snorts out a half laugh. "I know." There's a single long, deep swallow that he feels in his arm. "I just… don't like being choked."

"No one likes being choked, sweetheart," he says, the term of endearment rolling off his tongue before he even realizes.

"Some people do," she says with a lilt, and he can feel her body relax just the tiniest bit in his hold.

He smiles despite himself before clearing his throat to get serious. "I'm gonna tighten up a little bit," he tells her. "When I do, you just twist your head so you're looking at my fingers." He wiggles his fingers over at her left shoulder. "Then push back and duck your head out under my arm. Got it?"

She nods, though barely, her chin bopping into his arm. "Yeah, okay. Just… not too tight."

"It's gotta be tight to be real," he says, sensing her hesitation once again. "But I promise, I'm not going to hurt you." He feels her nod against him again and he tugs his arm up, putting her into a decently strong rear naked choke. The moment he does it, she straightens up and freezes, every part of her body turning to stone except for her right hand, which begins to furiously tap at his arm.

He releases her and she moves out of his hold, turning around to face him, her eyes wide. "Sorry," she says, averting her gaze and shaking her head. "I'm sorry."

He reaches out and takes hold of her shoulder, locks onto her eyes when she looks back up at him. "If you tap out with me, you'll be fine," he tells her, solemn look on his face. "But if you freeze up when someone is actually attacking you, you could die."

"That's not," she starts, but quickly presses her lips tightly together. She nods once and turns her back on him. "Go ahead," she says, inviting him to put her in the hold again.

He's a little surprised that she doesn't take more convincing. Actually, once those words left his mouth, he assumed she'd just get angry and leave. But here she is, having another go at this when it so obviously is hard for her. He tries not to think about why that is, why even the slightest amount of pressure on her windpipe paralyzes her with fear.

He shakes the thought out of his head and wraps his arm around her again. This time when he pulls her in, he lets his head drop closer to her shoulder. It's mostly bare, just the straps of her sports bra and tank top riding high on the ridge of her shoulder. His face is pointed into that ridge, near the crook of her neck. He takes a breath in through his nose and is struck by her scent. It reminds him of something.

"You smell like…" he trails off, trying to identify the smell and pull out those shadowy memories that he feels coming to the surface.

Her hands come up and take loose hold of his forearm as she turns her head towards him. "I smell?"

He shakes his head, but doesn't respond, too caught up in the sudden onslaught that the scent created. He's at home, in his apartment in Brooklyn. In the kitchen. His mother's laughing and slapping his sister's hand as she swipes a finger along the inside of a large bowl. He sees it, but more than that, he _feels_ the memory, like a growing warmth in his chest. "Cookies," he says finally, slowly breathing the word out. "You smell like cookies."

She laughs, still holding onto his arm, fully aware that he's actively breathing in her scent. "That's probably the weirdest and nicest thing that anyone has ever said about how I smell during a workout."

"What is it?" he asks, sounding almost desperate.

"Cookies?" she asks, craning her neck to try and see him. "I don't – oh, wait!" She keeps her head turned and quickly leans back, ducking out from under his arm. "It's my body wash," she says, turning to face him. "I ran out of my regular stuff and found this vanilla-scented wash I'd gotten for Christmas from someone."

His eyebrows knit together in confusion. "Body wash?"

"Soap. You know… it's like liquid soap. You put in on a shower poof to work up a good lather."

"People don't just use bar soap anymore?"

She shrugs. "Some people do. _Bar_ -barians." She smiles wide and wiggles her eyebrows at him. "See what I did there?" she asks with a chuckle. He shakes his head at her, his face never breaking. "C'mon. That was punny."

That earns her a dramatic eyeroll, but also a small smirk. He looks at her face, split with a ridiculous, goofy smile, and he tells her pointedly, "You know you just got out of my hold there."

She tilts her head to the side and thinks on that for a brief moment. "You were barely holding me," she argues.

"I had you though, and you got out of it just like I told you to." He smiles at her, a soft, genuine smile.

She raises her eyebrows. "Okay then. Next time someone attacks me from behind, I'll just pretend that he's sniffing me and go from there."

"Whatever works, sweetheart."


	8. Chapter 8

It's another hour before they quit, Tessa insisting on running some more drills and practicing grappling. It's hard for her because he's a good five inches taller, but, "I'm not worried about being attacked by a kid or a dwarf." She tells him. "You're the practice I need."

They part ways, both dripping with sweat – the late summer humidity seeping into the gym and making things that much worse. But she makes him promise to meet her in the common area in an hour so she can take him to dinner to thank him for his help.

"You don't have to do that," he'd tells her, ducking his head sheepishly.

"Maybe not," she replies. "But I want pizza and beer, and if I go to Digrispino's by myself I'll get hit on all night by the waitstaff. Who are all very nice, actually. But it can be a bit much."

Bucky was still being kept on a relatively short leash. Technically he was _allowed_ out by himself, but everyone tended to make such a big deal about the potential dangers that he rarely ended up leaving the building. And pizza and beer _did_ sound good. So he gives her a shrug and an _alright_ and heads up to his and Steve's apartment to grab a shower.

"Where've you been?" Steve asks as soon as he steps through the door.

He understands the curiosity, of course, but the nearly constant mother henning has gotten to be a bit much. "The gym," he responds curtly, a gruff quality to his voice.

Steve is sitting on the couch, flipping absently through the TV channels. "You should've said something, I'd have gone with you. I was going to go for a run, but it started pouring." He looks up and notices that Bucky is positively soaked through with sweat. "Guess it was a pretty good workout."

He nods. "I'm gonna take a shower."

"Hey I was thinking we could order pizza," Steve calls out as Bucky turns to head to the bathroom. "If you want."

Bucky stops short, closes his eyes and lets out a deep sigh. It's not that he doesn't want talk to Steve, or that he doesn't want him to know that he's going to dinner with Tessa. It's just hard to feel like you can't have any privacy. Now that he's starting to feel a bit more like a _normal_ person, he's also starting to feel a bit more like a teenager who's annoyed with his parents for wanting to know where he is all hours of the night. "Actually, Tessa's taking me to get pizza," he says, still facing away from Steve.

"She is?" he asks more confused than anything. "Why?"

Bucky turns and heads back into the room, sees Steve sitting on the edge of the couch, his brows laced together. "She needed some help training. Said Stark's putting the medical team through some kind of test." He shrugs. "I ran some drills with her and she's thanking me with food and beer."

The corners of Steve's mouth slowly turn up and he quirks his eyebrows at his friend. "Like a date?"

"Like a _thanks for letting me beat up on you_."

"She doesn't need to take that test," Steve says with a scoff. "I mean, we want everyone to be prepared and combat ready, but Tessa doesn't need that." The minute the words leave his mouth, the smile falls from his face, leaving in it's place a guarded sort of frown.

"Why wouldn't she need that?" he asks, more curious about Steve's reaction than anything.

"Just," he stumbles. "Just because… she doesn't really go on missions."

"Yeah, but isn't the idea to have everyone prepared in case they need to?"

"Well, yeah. But…"

Bucky raises his eyebrows at him. "But what?"

Steve just shakes his head. "Nothing. But nothing. It was good of you to help her out." He gets up off the couch and walks past Bucky as he heads into the kitchenette for a drink. "Where's she taking you?"

Bucky shrugs. "Some place where the waiters all hit on her." He eyes Steve from behind, takes note of the way he avoids his gaze.

"Digrispino's," he says, finally turning around. "It's good. You'll like it." He blows past him, heading back to his bedroom to avoid further conversation. "Have fun," he says before closing the door, leaving a highly suspicious Bucky still dripping sweat in the hallway.

He showers, changes – three times, actually – and finally hightails it out the door. When he jogs into the common area, a good ten minutes later than he was told, he finds Tessa in the midst of what appears to be a very serious conversation with Bruce. When she notices him, she stops mid-sentence and beams in his direction. "Hey, princess," she says, "Took you long enough. Couldn't get your hair right?"

He snorts indignantly. "Hilarious as always."

Bruce gives him a half smile, about the only expression Bucky's ever received from the rather reserved scientist, and says to Tessa, "We'll talk in the morning." He turns to leave, throwing a "Have fun," over his shoulder as he goes. And Bucky could swear he hears a knowing smirk in his voice.

"Did you know that Steve takes longer than any woman I know to get ready?" she asks him in a low, conspiratorial whisper as she grabs her purse from the counter. "Granted, I don't know that many women. But still."

"He's become very fond of 21st century hair-care products," Bucky quips as they head out the door.

The rain that moved through earlier managed to cool things down a bit, but the summer evening is still pretty sticky. "It's gonna rain again," he says absently as they dodge people on the sidewalk. He's positioned himself on her left so that he's closer to the street, setting himself as a sort of walking shield. It isn't something he thought to do. In fact, he just noticed that he does the other day when they set out on a coffee run. But he does vaguely remember doing it with women in his past. He thinks this is probably another instance of the old Bucky Barnes coming out, and he's never _quite_ sure how he feels about that.

"Yeah," she responds. "It's damn steamy." Then she grabs his arm and tugs him quickly toward a door on her right. He'd been so busy casing people and watching the area as they walked that he hadn't even realize they'd gone the four blocks to the restaurant. He's completely caught off guard when she grabs him and he nearly trips over his own two feet.

" _Jesus_ ," he mutters as he regains his balance and reaches for the door.

"Never let your guard down," she singsongs, ducking under his arm as he opens the door for her.

"Tessa!" he hears someone call out from across the room. The older man approaches quickly, his arms wide like he's looking for a hug. "I was wondering when we'd see you again."

To her credit, she makes no move to hug him, instead taking hold of his arm and redirecting him around to face the dining room. "Vito," she says fondly, actually leading him to a table in the corner, "the last time I was here one of your sons told me he wanted to take me in the back and bang. _Bang_ , Vito."

The older man cringes as he pulls out a chair for her. "Reggie's not here," he says, an apologetic look on his face. "He's working at some electronics store in Midtown. He may be a Digrispino, but he is _not_ Digrispino's material." He looks up at Bucky, who's still looming behind, taking everything in. "I see you brought a new man," Vito leans down to whisper to Tessa.

She rolls her eyes at him and laughs. "Two beers," she says. "Whatever's on tap."

He leans back and waves his hand toward the chair opposite Tessa at the table, inviting Bucky to take a seat. "And for the gentleman?" he inquires with a lilt.

Tessa shakes her head with just the slightest amusement as Bucky glares daggers at the man. "Haha," she intones. Then, looking at Bucky, "How do you feel about deep dish?" He slowly settles into his seat before giving her a perplexed look. "I know, I know. This is New York."

"It is," interrupts Vito. "But my people are from Chicago. So _that_ is our specialty."

"Let's do pepperoni and sausage. And onions – do you like onions?" she asks, quirking her head in Bucky's direction. He nods simply. "And onions," she tells Vito with a smile.

Once the old man saunters off, Bucky leans across the table. "I don't think I've ever had deep dish."

"Do you like bread?" she asks. He nods. "Do you like cheese?" Another nod. "Do you like sauce?" Again, a nod, though this time with a bit of an impatient eye roll. "Then you'll like Chicago style."

They're two beers in before the pizza comes, and it's perfect timing because the conversation has all but died out. They talked a bit about previous travels – starting with her asking him if he'd ever been to Chicago – but he still can't remember much. And he's honestly not sure that he'd want to know where he's been over the last few decades. It's not like anything good would've happened if he _had_ been to Chicago. He talked briefly about some of the places in Europe he remembered going to during the war, which led to her saying how she'd always wanted to go to Paris and Rome. But the closest she ever got was Minsk, which was, of course, not close at all. He said he'd spent too much time in Russia and hopes to never go back. She nodded, knowing enough about his past to let that go without further discussion.

So the giant hunk of pizza-like bread now on his plate was a welcome distraction, even if, "I don't know how to eat this."

She's already busy pulling her piece apart, blowing on her nearly burnt fingertips as she goes. "Just… do it," she says, brow furrowed as she attempts to adequately dissect the enormous thing into bite-sized pieces.

He decides to do just that, and he picks the piping hot piece of pizza up and takes a monstrous bite. He chews slowly, a thoughtful look on his face that almost makes her laugh as she watches. "It's good," he says simply after swallowing. "I mean, I really think you should be able to fold up a piece of pie – "

"And let the grease drip down your arm," she interrupts with a smile.

"That's what pizza is supposed to be," he retorts with a wink.

She shakes her head. "You are just like Steve. He never wants to try anything new."

"I'm trying it," he argues. "I said it was good."

She tries to hide her smile as she directs her attention back to the food in front of her. "I actually prefer New York style too. But, I thought it'd be good to get you to expand your horizons."

"Get me back into the world?"

"One pizza at a time."

They eat in silence for a bit, then order another round of beers. He likes the fact that they can do that – sit in silence – without it feeling awkward. He's not actually sure that there's anyone in his life he can do that with. Even Steve seems nervous around him at times, and he's always far too eager to talk about the good old days, as though that might somehow bring back the best friend he so obviously still misses. But there's never any pressure with Tessa.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" he asks, breaking the silence.

"Sure."

"I don't make you nervous, do I?"

"Nope," she says simply.

"You know you're probably the only one," he says with a self-deprecating smirk.

"I don't know… Vito doesn't seem too intimidated by you." He smiles then, real and genuine, and he looks up to see her smile matches his own. "To be fair, there's not a whole lot that makes me… nervous."

"Yeah," he says, thinking briefly about their time together and how rarely she seems frazzled or fearful… save some of the choke holds from earlier. "Why is that?"

She shrugs.

"You know," he starts, taking a long drink, "Steve said something earlier that was a little… weird."

"Oh?" she replies, raising her eyebrows in interest.

"He said that you don't need to take that test."

"Really?" she asks in a conspiratorial whisper. "Why would he say that?"

Bucky shakes his head and snickers. "I don't know." He locks eyes with her, intrigue filling his gaze. "Thought you might tell me."

"Are you afraid that I lied to you just to get you to manhandle me for a few hours?"

He lets out a hearty laugh that feels totally new – and totally amazing – to him. "I hadn't really thought of that. Did you play me?" She shrugs again, takes a pull on her beer. "Seriously, though," he says after a beat, "if everyone else on the team needs to train and pass a test, why don't you? I mean, no offense, but you aren't exactly _great_ at self-defense."

"Offense taken," she replies, her hand flying to her chest in an expression of mock horror. He quirks his eyebrows at her, asking that she answer his question. She sighs long and drawn out and sinks back into her chair. "I have… other skills," she says, averting eye contact.

"What does that mean?"

She takes a moment to put together her thoughts before slowly sitting upright and looking back at him. "You remember when you asked me why I got into genetics?"

He nods. "And you told me that you'd tell me over dinner some time," he says, indicating the half-eaten pizza in front of them.

She smiles a bit, but he can see that it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "I said _you'd_ have to buy _me_ dinner sometime."

"Oh, so we need to do this again?"

She gazes at him, a sort of tenderness in her eyes that he hasn't seen from anyone – from a woman especially – in a damn long time. "That'd be so bad?"

He feels his face split into a wide grin. "Not if we can get some _real_ pizza."

"Don't let Vito hear you say that," she leans in to whisper.

"Or what, he'll sic one of his womanizing sons on me?" he murmurs in response, eyeing the man behind the bar as he does so.

Her hand falls to his as she laughs. He's wearing a relatively thin leather glove, so the temperature sensors in the cybernetic fingers are still able to recognize the warmth of her palm, and for some reason that sends a jolt through him. He glances down at their hands and the moment he does so, she makes a move to pull away. But he quickly twists his hand and wraps his fingers around hers, then slowly entwines them with his own. It only takes a moment for the tension in her fingers to disappear. She begins stroking the pad of her thumb over the top of his knuckles and when he looks up at her he sees that her brows are knit together as she watches the motion.

"You okay?" he asks gently.

"Steve talked about you all the time," she mutters softly, her expression not changing. "When we first met…" she shakes her head at the memory. "He woke up in a new world. Didn't recognize a thing. Had all of these… people… telling him what was what, telling him what they _needed_ from him. People thought of him as a superhero – _superhuman_. But he was just this… sad, lost _person_. And he'd lost everything, you know?" She finally looks up a him, offers a small, sad smile. "Everything he lost… losing _you_ hit him the hardest."

Bucky clears his throat, contemplates calling it a night and heading out just to avoid the feeling rising in the pit of his stomach. But her green eyes are so soft and captivating as she holds his gaze. And her thumb is still slowly tracing the arc of his knuckles, her touch so tender and… "Is that why you helped me?" he asks. "For Steve?"

"He never said you were perfect," she tells him, all but avoiding his question. "But everything he ever told me about you made it 100% clear that you were a good man." She stops stroking and instead gives his metal hand a sharp squeeze. "You didn't deserve this."

"Yeah, well," he intones as he pulls his hand away. "Shit happens, right?"

She nods, her eyes falling to her now empty hand, still outstretched on the table. She flexes her fingers and stares at them absently. "I know what that's like," she says softly, almost a whisper.

"What?" he asks, a sharpness to his voice.

"Having people think you're good. Knowing deep down that you're… not." He looks at her curiously, but says nothing. She lets out a deep sigh and looks up at him. "That's why I wanted to help. Not that I did much," she says with a shrug.

He feels his expression soften. "You treated me like a real person. That's more than pretty much everybody else did."

"Yeah, but I couldn't…" She shrugs again, sadness clouding her eyes. "I was hoping I could find something that I could… fix."

Bucky's brows knit together as he says, "It's not like they changed my brain… physically, I mean."

"Actually, brainwashing – learning of any kind – creates new neural pathways, effectively altering the physical structure of the brain. But I didn't mean… I mean I knew going in that I wouldn't be able to _physically_ heal you. Hell, physically, you are… a specimen," she says with a lilt and a suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows.

He shakes his head and rolls his eyes, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "What were you going to do then?"

"I thought, maybe, I could fix something else. Something… deep seated."

"That's vague."

"I suppose it is." She lets out another sigh, another sad smile. She sits upright and looks him straight in the eye. "I'm a mutant," she tells him, unblinking.

He's not sure what to say. He's not sure what to think. "Okay," comes out slowly. He leans back in his seat, forehead wrinkled as he takes his time thinking through what to say next. For her part, she just continues to patiently stare at him, gauging his reactions. "I guess I don't really know what that means," he says finally.

"Do you know what mutants are?" she asks with a single quirked eyebrow.

"I mean… kind of…"

She smirks. "We've sort of become more mainstream over the last decade or so."

"You're… enhanced," he says, still working to make sense of it. He had heard the term _mutant_ before. He's pretty sure he had been ordered to take some out during his days with Hydra… pretty sure because the word rolls around in his brain with a disgusted sort of intonation, the way his handlers typically uttered the names or designations of his victims. But it wasn't until fairly recently that he learned what the word meant.

She lets out a slow breath. "I guess. _Naturally_ enhanced. Does that count?" She shakes her head. "I have the X-gene. And so I have certain… abilities."

"And what does that mean for me?" he starts, almost confusing himself with the question. "I mean, what could you do that would… _fix_ me?"

She shrugs. "Nothing, apparently," she says. She takes a moment to plan out her next words. "I can… manipulate energy. And energy is _everything_. So I thought… I don't know. Sometimes even I'm not sure what I can do in a certain situation until I'm in it." She looks deep into his steely eyes and says, with utter sincerity, "I just thought there might be _something_ I could do. But there wasn't anything. Not really."

They sit in silence for several minutes, Tessa sipping at her beer, Bucky sitting stoically, shuffling through all of the new information in his head. When he's finally ready to speak again he takes a sharp inhale of breath and tilts his head, looking at her quizzically. "Is that why Steve said you don't need to take that test?" The corner of his mouth turns up into a sly smirk. "You don't need to know how to _physically_ defend yourself, do you?"

"Not really," she says, smiling at him shyly. "But I'm glad you helped me anyway. I really don't want to use my powers like that. Not if I don't need to."

"What are your… powers?" he asks, having trouble getting the word out in a serious way. "I mean, can you hurt people?"

"Like I said, energy is _everything_."

He lets out a bit of a snort. "Yeah, well, that says _nothing_."

She nods. "I know. It's kind of complicated. But also not." He raises his eyebrows at her. "Everything relies on energy. It is… everything. So my _powers_ … they can be complex. And they can be simple."

"Do they include talking in circles to confuse the hell out of people?"

"Maybe. Sometimes." The coy expression on her face quickly falls as she says, "I can hurt people. And I _have_ hurt people."

"That's why you think you're not a good person," he says absently. He reaches out across the table with his right hand and pulls her fingers from her glass, gives them a reassuring sort of squeeze as he tells her, "My therapist told me that we're more than just our actions."

"Yeah?" she says, small smile blooming, though her eyes remain cast down.

"Yeah." He drops his hold on her and leans back in his seat. "Of course, she also told me to _be like water_ , so she might have a few screws loose."

Tessa almost chokes on the laugh as it bursts out of her throat, and damn if that doesn't cause something deep inside of his chest to start to burn. He watches as her head falls back, a deep, breathy, very unladylike chortle spilling out of her. It's unlike any laugh he's heard from her before, most being snarky chuckles or lighthearted giggles. And he can't help but think that , somehow, this one is all his. It's real and genuine and unabashed. And it's all for him.

"Having a good time?" Vito asks, the loud laughter enticing him over. Tessa nods as she gathers herself.

"Can we get a couple more?" Bucky asks, indicating their nearly empty beer glasses.

Vito turns to him and asks in an almost conspiratorial whisper, "She's not driving, is she?"

"No," he replies, actually warming to the old man. "We walked. And I'll make sure she gets home safe."

"Two more then," Vito says excitedly as he heads back to the bar.

"Hey, you wanna see something?" Tessa asks, pulling Bucky's attention back to her. He nods simply. She reaches her hand out to the center of the table and holds it over a glass of water. "If I were to increase the kinetic energy of these water molecules, what do you think would happen?"

He purses his lips in thought for a moment. He knows this, he just has to reach back far enough in his mind to dig out the answer. "If the molecules speed up, the water could boil."

She smiles brightly at him, holding his gaze as the water in the glass begins to bubble. He pushes back a bit from the table, a sort of confused but intrigued look on his face, and she drops her hand. "Cool, huh?"

He laughs out a "Yeah," a rather amazed, definitely impressed look on his face.

From the corner of her eye she sees Vito approaching with their drinks. "Just don't…" she starts, gaze falling down to the table, "don't tell anyone."

"Here you go," the old man says as he deposits the full glasses and scoops up the empty ones. "Can I get you two anything else? We have gelato."

"No, thanks," Bucky replies, clearing his throat at the end as a signal for the man to get lost. And Vito gets it too, shooting Bucky a sly, knowing smile as scurries off.

"I won't tell anyone," he says simply, turning back to her.

"I mean it," she says, a stern quality to her voice. "Steve knows. And Tony. All of the Avengers, really. But most of the people I work with don't. Most people in general don't know. And I need to keep it that way."

He nods. "Okay. I won't tell anyone."

"Thanks."

"Can I ask you something, though?" She nods, picking at her cold pizza once more. "Why did you tell me?"

She smiles at him again, for the umpteenth time tonight, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't starting to get a thrill out of seeing it. "Earlier today, you told me you wouldn't hurt me," she says, a slight blush on her cheeks. "I guess I'm hoping you're true to your word. Also I figure Steve would blab at some point anyway."

He nods briefly, crooked smile on his face. "Can I ask you something else?" She looks up at him expectantly. "What's gelato?"


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's note:** Here lies... adult themes... be warned.

* * *

They stay at Digrispino's for nearly two more hours, talking, laughing, drinking, and of course eating gelato. But as they leave the restaurant, he realizes that he honestly has no idea what they spent so long talking about. It was as though each topic so easily bled into the next. Every joke, every story, every excited interruption felt so smooth and casual. He realizes, as they walk back to the tower – him keeping her slightly swaying form between him and the closed shopfronts – that the words they spoke didn't really mean anything at all. It was the rhythm that they had, that's what had him buzzing all night.

"Ooop," she lets out with a sloppy laugh as she trips over a crack in the sidewalk. He takes hold of her arm to steady her and she wraps her fingers around his metal wrist and leans into him.

"You're kind of a lightweight," he jokes, adjusting his arm to support her weight.

"Shut up," she mutters. "I'm tipsy, not tanked."

"Okay," he laughs.

"We can't all have the tolerance of a supersoldier," she quips, dropping his arm and putting her hand up to the palm scanner at the back entrance of the tower. He stays plastered to her side as they enter and head for the elevators, just in case she wobbles again. When they get to the elevator, she slips her ID card in, her floor automatically selected. She turns to look at him. "You don't have your card?"

He glances down at her. "I told Vito I'd make sure you got home safe."

"Ah," she smirks, "walking me to my door. Such a gentleman."

"I was raised in a simpler time," he says, his palm falling to the small of her back to guide her out of the elevator.

"I'm sure your mother would be so proud." She turns to face him when they reach her door. "I'm really not drunk," she says with a crooked smile.

"Okay." He leans against the door frame, waiting for her to get out her card and scan in. But she doesn't seem to be in any hurry.

"Thanks for coming out with me," she says, leaning against the opposite side of the doorframe. "Things have been kind of… shitty lately."

"Really?" he asks, genuinely curious not only about what that means, but also how it never came up during their nearly four-hour-long dinner.

She absently waves her hand through the air. "Work stuff." Her eyes fall to her feet as she digs her toe into the dark wood floor. "I needed it though… a break. So… thank you."

"Well, you know where to find me," he says simply, "if you have any more shitty days."

She looks up at him from underneath her dark lashes. "Yeah? You gonna spar with me again too?"

"After that arm bar? No way." He straightens up and takes just the smallest step closer to her.

She lets out a _psh_ and says, "Probably a good idea. After all, you have no idea what I'm capable of." Those final words come out in a deep, husky sort of whisper. She gazes up at him with a crooked smile, and he shifts a bit closer still.

"You know we're at your apartment," he says softly, his head dropping so that his words tumble into her hair. He ducks a bit lower, nearly nuzzling her neck as he whispers in her ear. "Only you have the key, doll."

His left hand hangs loosely by his side, his gloved fingers just barely brushing against her thigh. But it's enough to cause her to take in a sharp breath. She tries to mask her sudden arousal by asking him, "Are you smelling me again?"

To which he replies simply, "Yes," before placing a single, soft kiss on her neck.

She bites her bottom lip and lets her eyes fall closed as his lips graze her neck a bit higher. Then higher still. Then they place a chaste kiss on jawline, and that's all she can take. "Okay," she breathes out before turning her face and capturing his lips with her own. She brings her hands up to his face, then shifts them back so that her fingers can tangle into his hair.

Bucky presses closer and pivots so that he has her pinned against the wall. His metal hand falls to the curve of her hip, the other moving up to her face and then working its way into her hair. He gives her dark locks a little tug and as he'd hoped, she responds by opening her mouth wider. The kiss deepens and she lets out a small moan, just enough for only him to hear. He breaks the kiss and brings his hand down to her jaw, runs his thumb over her smooth, flushed cheek. "The key, sweetheart," he says, staring into her heavily lidded eyes.

She doesn't say a word. She just reaches into her back pocket to get her card, and turns slightly to scan it, her body still firmly sandwiched between him and the wall. As soon as the door lock clicks, he turns the handle with his right hand and shoves the door open as he scoops his left arm up under her ass and lifts her into him. Without any hesitation, she wraps her legs around his hips and her arms around his neck, and she begins kissing him again.

The apartment is dark and Bucky's never actually been in it before, but it must have the same layout as Steve's. At least, that's what he assumes when he blindly stumbles into a sofa after just a few short strides. "Ow," he lets out, dropping his right hand from her back to his shin.

She snickers a bit as she lets go of him, feeling behind her for the arm of the sofa. He sets her down on it as she untangles her legs from around him, but she does not let his mouth go. She brings one of her hands up to the back of his head and guides him down with her as she leans back, slowly falling over the arm of the couch. It's a slow drop as he keeps his arm wrapped protectively around her back, lowering her down even as he's forced to awkwardly climb over the arm. It's only awkward for a moment, though. As soon as he's on top of her it's as though their bodies meld together. Pressed tightly to her is how he's meant to be, he's sure of that.

He's getting harder by the second, and the fact that she can feel that as he slowly shifts on top of her makes her whole body burn. She moans into his open mouth and he takes that brief break to move his lips away from hers and instead trail wet kisses down her neck. He begins suckling at the tender flesh near her collar bone, smiling to himself when he takes in her sweet vanilla scent. "You smell so good," he tells her as she huffs out erratic breaths from beneath him.

"Stopstopstop," she issues out all at once. He does immediately, and tries to sit up. But she grabs the back of his neck and pulls him back down, ducking her head to attack his lips again. She kisses him hard for a good long beat, then bites his bottom lip and quickly pushes him up and off of her. She notes the confused look on his face, but only quirks a smile as she reaches down to grab the hem of her T-shirt before pulling it off and tossing somewhere behind her.

He stares at her, dumfounded, for a long moment as she reaches back to undo her bra. When she begins to peel it off, he brings his flesh and bone fingers down to her shoulder to help guide the strap, then he drops his face back down, peppering her bare skin with more kisses. "You are so beautiful," he murmurs into her as she arches beneath him.

She reaches down between them and he feels her fingers gently graze his stomach, lingering there before moving down to his jeans. He bucks at the touch as she slowly undoes the button and unzips him. "Shhhh," she issues out, bringing her right hand up to his face as he pulls up and looks down at her. Their eyes lock in the dark, only the moonlight from her open window letting him see how serious her gaze has become. "Don't stop," she says, an urgency to her tone. "Don't stop."

And the truth is, he doesn't think he could stop if he wanted to.

They fuck on the couch. Then they go to fuck again in her bed. At some point, her phone rings, the tone playing Steve's old USO Captain America theme. And she sits upright, quirks her ears to figure out where the sound is coming from. "Is that – " Bucky starts, a sly look on his face.

"His official ringtone," she nods, shifting her weight beneath him and then giving him enough of a shove to roll him off of her and onto his back. He expects her to get up and go find the phone, probably buried in her purse in the other room. But instead she throws her leg over him, straddling his hips. "He's probably wondering where his _wittle baby_ is," she mocks as she begins laying kisses on his chest.

"Shit," he mutters. "What time is it?" He asks the question as though he's preparing to say _I better go_ or some such nonsense. But he makes no move to get up, or even look at the clock on her nightstand for that matter.

He feels her teeth graze his collar bone as she sighs out a "Who cares?"

He brings his hands to her ass, cupping each cheek as he pulls her closer to him. She lets out a little moan and bites down on his clavicle. "Keep that up, I might bite you back," he says a little breathlessly.

She shifts on top of him just a bit as she reaches down to help guide him into her. "Good," she almost squeaks. Once he's inside, she sits upright and begins to ride him, shifting in slow-moving circles, as her hands press hard into his ribs. He keeps ahold of her hips, trying to keep his short thrusts in time with her.

She's so close. He can feel it. She's so close, and so is he, and it feels like they might actually cum together when from the other room they both hear a muffled, " _The star spangled man with a plan!_ "

"Oh for fuck's sake!" she nearly shouts, tightening around him. It's just enough to finish him, and it must've done it for her too because she crumbles down on top of him in an exhausted heap just after.

They're both sweaty and out of breath as he brings his hand up to gently stroke her wild hair. "I love your hair," he murmurs absently, closing his eyes.

"I hate your best friend," she breathes into his chest.

He laughs so hard she has to shift off of him, his chest shuddering uncontrollably beneath her face. She rolls once more until she's at the edge of the bed, then she awkwardly, exhaustedly, pulls herself up off the bed. "You're going to answer it?" he asks, making no attempt to move.

Her voice travels back to him from the hall as she goes in search of the phone. "If I don't, he's gonna show up here."

Bucky continues to lay on his back in the dark. "Let him," he says to no one at all.

She's only gone for a matter of minutes, but it's late and he's spent, so those few minutes are all it takes for him to start to drift off.

"Hey Sargent Badass," she croons, flipping on the bedroom light. "Did I say you could nap in my bed?"

He squints painfully against the light, opening just one eye to glare at her. "What'd you tell him?" he asks, voice deep with fatigue.

She's wearing the T-shirt that she shucked off earlier, and he can't help but feel a little on display, laying sprawled out and naked in the now brightly lit room. He reaches over to gather the sheet and pulls it up to his waist as she crawls back into the bed. Curling up next to him and laying her head on his chest, she says simply, "I told him we were fucking and he should come join us." He tries not to laugh, but she can feel his chest rattle from the stifled chuckle. She smiles as she singsongs, "Could be fun."

He pulls her a bit closer, his arm around her back, right hand resting lazily on her hip. "I'd rather have you all to myself."

They lay in silence for a long moment, his thumb gently brushing along her naked hip – the T-shirt too short to cover much more than her torso – and her fingers tracing circles on his chest. Slowly, her hand makes it over to his left side where she gingerly touches the thick scar separating flesh from metal. "Don't," he bites out, reaching up with his still-gloved metal hand and pushing her fingers away.

She relents, choosing instead to softly tap out a rhythm on the center of his chest. "I told him we were watching a movie and I'd send you home when it was over."

"Yeah?" he asks, voice steady again. "What are we watching?"

"Die Hard."

He scrunches up his face. "What the hell is that?"

She shifts next to him and rolls to her stomach, folds both arms on top of his chest and rests her head there so that she can look him in the eye. "It's a Christmas movie," she says with a wink.

He brings his hand up to her face, tenderly tucks her hair behind her ear. "You're so beautiful," he says, looking into her eyes. She blushes and tucks her head to try and hide her face. "Oh, I'm sorry," he mocks, "am I making you uncomfortable?" She doesn't raise her face, only giggles like a little girl and nods into him. "You just seduced me and brought me into your bed after the first date. But me calling you beautiful is embarrassing?"

Her head shoots up. "That was a date?"

"If it starts with food and ends with sex, I'm calling it a date."

She narrows her eyes at him. "Are you sure you even know how to date? What's it been, 70 years?"

He lets out a small laugh. "Yeah, about that. But I always had to pay, and it _very_ rarely ended like this."

"Yeah," she groans as she rolls over and out of his hold. "About _this_ …" She sits upright and looks down at him, blush still peppering her cheeks. "I don't usually do this. Just so you know."

"Me either."

"Yeah," she laughs, "I figured you wouldn't have had much occasion over the last few decades." Her eyes go wide as she's hit with a sudden realization. "Did I just pop your 21st century cherry?" she asks with a huge smile.

He rolls his eyes and shifts so that he's propped up on his elbow. "I've had sex this century," he says as though she's an idiot for assuming otherwise.

"Really? With who?"

His eyes drop down to the sheets, avoiding her gaze. "Nobody," he states plainly. Then, clearing his throat. "It was never… like this."

"Is _like this_ good?" she asks, an almost timid quality to her voice.

He looks up and sees her staring expectantly at him with those deep green eyes. He wants to tell her again how beautiful she is, but he's sure she'll just make fun of him. Instead, he reaches up with his left hand, cups it behind her neck and pulls her down to him for a long, deep kiss.

"Do you think we should tell Steve?" she asks when he pulls away.

He winces a bit as he sits up and moves to lean back against the headboard. "I don't really want to talk about Steve while I'm naked in bed with you."

"He might be pissed," she says, sincere worry lacing her tone.

He looks over at her and finds her wringing her hands, staring at them as she almost violently twists her fingers. "Why?" he asks, reaching out and taking hold of her hands.

She shrugs. "I don't know. He's pretty protective of you," she says, refusing to look up at him. "He might think that I took advantage or something."

"I might be a little… screwed up," he starts, lacing his fingers with hers, "but I'm a grown man."

"You did just say I seduced you."

"I was joking." The corner of her mouth pulls up into a half smile as she shrugs. He sits upright, turns to her and takes her face in his hands, making her look him in the eye. "Do you know how long I've wanted to kiss you?" he asks.

"Since you found out I smell like cookies?"

He nods. "Yeah, that definitely tipped the scales." He searches her face for something, an answer perhaps, as he realizes even he doesn't know how long he's wanted this. He just knows that, now that he has it, he's not letting it go. "I don't want to tell Steve," he says after a long moment. "Not now. Not yet."

"You embarrassed of me?" she jokes, nervously averting her eyes.

"Like I said before," he says leaning in and pressing his forehead to hers, "I want you all to myself."


	10. Chapter 10

Let's get the whole gang involved... shall we?

* * *

He's gotten more comfortable being in the common area, hanging out for more than the few minutes it takes to swing through and hunt down a snack. But it's still a place that feels strangely…unwelcoming to him. Either the room is empty, which means that Bucky remains on edge the entire time, just waiting for the strange voice in the walls to call out to him and ask if he needs any assistance. Or there are… people around.

Some people, of course, are easier to handle than others. Natasha, for example… he doesn't trust her one iota, but he understands her completely, and that makes for an oddly comfortable sort of silent interaction. Clint's fine too…never _silent_ , but the man has also never pressured Bucky for anything. He simply chatters away – and more often than not, his stories are pretty entertaining – and he never seems to take offense at Bucky's lack of participation in conversations.

And then there's Tony, master of the _I don't know you, I don't like you, and I don't trust you_ side-eye glare. Yeah, it's safe to say that if Tony's in the common area, Bucky's turning on his heel and marching back out. Bruce mostly keeps to himself, which Bucky respects. And Sam, who doesn't even live at the tower, yet somehow seems to always be here… well Sam is Sam.

And Steve. After nearly six months at the tower, Bucky and Steve have fallen back into a close relationship, but it's different from what their friendship had been before. They're different people now, sure, no longer idealistic kids just trying to make the world a better place. But it's more than that. Bucky had been remembering a lot about his life before – both as Bucky Barnes and as the Winter Soldier – but there are still so many things that are so very fuzzy for him.

But Steve, he remembers _everything_. There's an odd sort of pressure that spending time with Steve always brings. And while it's usually bearable at home when they're alone – probably in part because Bucky had followed his therapist's advice and told Steve how he felt – when he's in a group setting with his dear old friend, he somehow feels like he never quite measures up. Maybe it's because Steve loves telling old stories, vying with Barton tale for tale, and even though Bucky is often _in_ the stories, he very rarely remembers them. Or maybe it's just because he can see how comfortable Steve is here, with all of his new, (mostly) mentally stable friends.

The point is, being in the common room for more than 5 minutes at a time is one of the things Bucky dreads most in this world. But the possibility of a chance encounter with the increasingly busy and oddly elusive Dr. Tessa Sullivan, would've been enough to get to him brave almost any hostile locale.

Since their night together – that first night, which she still refuses to call a date – they'd managed to be alone together a whopping total of two times. Each time required careful planning, not only to avoid raising suspicion, but also because Tessa's schedule rarely left time for anything… fun.

At the first opening in her calendar, she told her assistant that she needed some time to go over the Avengers' confidential medical files, which meant she was not to be interrupted. At all. By anyone. No matter what. Then she sent Claire off on an errand and had the voice in the walls beckon Bucky to her office. Once he got there they locked the door and fucked like horny, greedy teenagers on the surprisingly comfortable futon in the corner. _I sleep here a lot_ , she'd told him when he sprawled out on the unfolded sofa, refusing to move.

Two days later, he stood for 40 minutes around the corner, just outside of her office until her assistant finally left. Then he swept in without knocking, locked the door behind him, and… well… fucked her like a horny, greedy teenager on the futon in the corner.

He's planning on running the same op this afternoon.

But first…breakfast. He knows that Tessa often grabs something to eat on her way into the lab, so when he enters the common room, presumably in search of fruit, he's not at all surprised to find her there. What does surprise him is the hard, swift slap to the ass that she lays on him the moment he moves through the door.

" _Jesus_ ," he comments, turning to face her. "You greet everyone who comes in here like that?"

Her face is split by a wide, shit-eating grin, and seeing that lights a fire in his chest. "Yep," she says winking at him.

He assumes, given her actions that no one else is in the room, but he takes a moment to scan the area just the same before following her over to the kitchenette. She reaches up to open the cabinet that Tony keeps stocked with cereal and Pop-Tarts, and when she does so, her shirt rides up, revealing a strip of pale skin above her jeans. He leans in quickly and cups his metal hand over her exposed side, chuckling when she lets out a little shriek and flinches at the cold touch. But she doesn't actually pull away. Instead, she leans into his palm as she shrinks back down, Pop-Tarts in hand.

"That's not breakfast," he whispers into the skin at the back of her neck. She tilts her head to let his lips get closer and he moves his hands to cradle her hips.

"Sure it is," she tells him, voice calm and level, even though he can feel her body tighten in his grip, feel her breath hitch when begins kissing her neck. "Says so on the box." He pulls away and grabs the box from her. "Hey!"

"This," he says, holding up the Pop-Tarts as she spins around to face him, "is garbage."

Her hands fall to her hips and she stares him down. "You probably think all 21st century food is _garbage_."

"Only the stuff with…" he flips the box around and reads off some of the ingredients. "High fructose corn syrup, cracker meal, and… niacinamide?" His once amused smile quickly turns into a confused and concerned grimace, and it's so reminiscent of a bewildered toddler that she can't help but bark out a laugh.

He drops the box on the counter behind him, giving a disgusted shake of the head as he does so.

"Let me take you to breakfast," he says, leaning into her as the laughter settles.

"To breakfast? Is that some kind of pick-up line? Like you want to take me to breakfast _tomorrow_? Wink, wink."

"No," he says, taking her hand in his flesh-and-bone one. "Unless you _want_ to go tomorrow?"

"And before then?"

His eyes tick to either side, making sure they're still alone, before his leans forwarded and softly kisses her. "Uuuungh," she moans out, pulling away. An exaggerated frown takes over face as she says, "I can't. I have to get to the lab, and I'm sure I'll be there all day."

"Then let me take you to dinner tonight."

"What's your obsession with feeding me?" she asks with coy, crooked smile.

"I need to take you out. On a proper date."

"You're such a gentleman," she mocks.

"Hey, I like… fooling around with you. I _really_ like it. But I'd feel a lot better about things if you'd let me take you out. Officially."

The smile disappears from her face as she takes in his words. "Okay," she says finally. "I'll _let you_ take me out."

"Thank you." He kisses her again and she leans in and presses her warm body up against him, forcing him back a step. He hears the crinkle of metallic paper as she continues to kiss him, her left hand in his hair, her right… mysteriously absent.

A wide grin splits his face as she slowly pulls away, and he brings his hand down and wraps his metal fingers around her wrist. "Seriously?" he laughs, lifting her hand up and with it, the pack of Pop-Tarts.

"Dinner's a long way off," she smirks at him. Then, her face falling, "Crap. I can't tonight. I have to run some time-sensitive experiments." She runs her fingertips down his arm. "Maybe tomorrow?"

He takes hold of her hand once she starts tracing the outlines of the plates at his wrist. He's still not too fond her touching the metal arm, at least not like that, not in a soft, seductive way. "You're gonna make me wait?" he asks in a low, deep tone.

She smiles and lets out a slight, almost childlike giggle. "Yep."

They both turn to the entranceway, heads swiveling in unison, as soft murmurs emanate from the hall. The moment he hears Sam's loud, vivacious laugh, he drops Tessa's hand and almost growls.

"So serious," she mocks, tearing open her package and taking a giant bite of raw strawberry Pop-Tart before turning to leave. "I'll see you later." She nods a hello to the group as they enter, leaning over to give Sam his always requested high five, and saunters off to work, leaving a grumpy looking Bucky all by his lonesome.

"What was that?" Sam asks with a coy smile.

Bucky doesn't even realize he's talking to him until Steve comes up and shoves him with his shoulder. He looks up to see the man staring at him with an amused smirk. "What?"

"You were just following her with your eyes, _all the way out_."

"I was not."

Clint chuckles, moving over next to Sam and throwing a glance behind him as though Tessa's still there. "You were definitely checking Doc out," he says.

"He really was," Sam laughs.

"He _really_ was," Clint repeats, folding his arms over his chest and looking straight at Bucky.

Natasha steps in, popping open a bottle of water and leaning onto the counter next to them. "So what? She's got a nice ass. Let him look."

Sam shrugs. "She's got more than just a nice ass." He turns to Clint, but keeps Bucky in his periphery as he says, "But, oh the things I'd do for that fine ass…" Clint smirks and holds back a laugh. "I'd take her and bend her over –"

"Sam…" Steve begins to chide.

But before he can so much as finish the syllable, Bucky leaps forward and grabs Sam by the collar, growling in his ear one simple word… "No."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Sam issues out, holding his hands up in surrender. "At ease, soldier."

Steve's already got Bucky by the shoulder, slowly peeling him off his friend. Clint steps up, unable to keep the laughter at bay. "Relax, man. He's just messing with you."

"Yeah," a completely unfazed Natasha confirms. "Besides, if he so much as _tried_ to bend Tess over anything, she'd kill him."

"I like to think she'd take pity on me and just kick my ass a little." Nat raises a doubting brow at him in response.

"It's okay," Steve says in Bucky's ear, patting him roughly on the chest as they both take a few steps back from the others. "This is just their way of… being friendly. You know? Poking fun."

Bucky turns to him and rolls his eyes. _Yes, Steve,_ he thinks. _I know how friends work._ But even so…he turns to Sam and shoves a pointed finger in his chest. "Don't talk about her like that again."

"Damn, man," he replies, actually winking at the irate former assassin. "You got it bad."

Clint comes up to Bucky and claps him on the shoulder. "You know, if you want to ask her out, I can give you some tips." He turns to face Steve. "No offense, Cap, but I know that talking to girls isn't exactly your area of expertise."

"He talks to me all the time," Natasha quips.

Steve gets a sour look on his face. "I can talk to women. I _do_ talk to women."

"That's what I just said. Actually, he talks to Tessa all the time too." She slides over to Bucky's left and leans in, whispers almost conspiratorially, "I think he's been working on asking her out for about two years now."

Bucky's pretty sure that's not true, but he feels his eyes widen just the same, only now realizing that there's a very real possibility that he's stepping on toes here.

"That's not…" Steve rambles. "I'm not… interested… in Tessa. We're friends. She's one of my best friends."

"Good," Clint beams, as he steals Nat's water. "Then you won't mind us setting her up with Barnes."

Now it's Sam's turn to go wide-eyed. "Wait, we're setting them up? I thought we were just making fun of him."

"What's the matter, Sammy? You jealous?" Barton mocks. Sam gives him a little shove, causing him to spill water down his chin. He scoffs as he swipes at his face. "You had your chance anyway."

"What does that mean?" Bucky asks, words leaving his mouth before he's able to realize that it's probably not the best idea to engage in this conversation.

"Sam asked Tessa out once and she said no," Steve says plainly. But his eyes are alight with stifled laughter as he glances over at Sam.

"She didn't say 'no'," he defends. "She said that she valued my friendship too much to risk losing it."

"Yeah, that's definitely a _not interested_ ," Natasha says with a grin.

"Don't take it personally, Sam." Clint starts. "You're just not her type." He gives Bucky an assessing look, eyes moving up and down his frame. "But this one…"

"How the hell would you know what her type is?"

"Doc and I go way back," he replies with a quick swig. He chucks the now empty water bottle in the bin and turns back to the group. "I met her ex in Minsk. Sort of."

"You did?" Natasha leans forward, genuinely interested. "You never told me that. How did I not know that?"

"I've never even heard her talk about an ex," Steve mutters almost to himself.

"Yeah, well… it didn't end well." He shuffles his feet into the wood floor, head down like he's suddenly sorry he said anything and trying to think of a way back out. "Doesn't matter," he settles on, before pointing back at Bucky. "Point is… _this_ is her type. Trust me."

Bucky shakes his head and lets out a long sigh. "Okay, enough."

"I'm just trying to help," Barton laughs, holding his hands up apologetically as Bucky breezes past him on his way out of the common area. He turns back to the others and raises his eyebrows, voice taking on a serious tone. "Do _not_ tell her I mentioned the ex."

Nat throws him an incredulous glance. "Oh I'm telling her about every bit of this conversation." She too turns to leave, tossing over her shoulder as she goes, "And I'm pretty sure we don't need to play matchmaker to get those two together."


	11. Chapter 11

"Hey, I want to ask you something," he says to Steve as he throws the man a towel. A 15 mile run may not exactly be the hardest workout for a couple of supersoldiers, but they're still dripping with sweat as they enter Steve's apartment.

"Yeah, okay," Steve says with a smile. In the last month or so Bucky had really seemed to turn a corner. He still zones out and gets that "crazy dazed" look, as Natasha likes to call it. Nightmares still are commonplace. And occasionally he'll break into a string of Russian curses and throw something or punch a hole in a wall. But overall, he's acting more and more like, well, a normal person. He talks to him, jokes around with him, pokes fun at him – all of the things that _his_ Bucky used to do. It's different, _he'_ s different. But everyday Steve feels like he's getting a little bit more of his best friend back.

"Did you and Tessa ever date? Or… did you _want_ to date?" The question has a forced casualness that takes Steve off guard.

"What?" he asks, looking incredulously at his friend. Truth be told, he had thought that Bucky was going to ask him if he could get his own apartment in the tower. It's something he'd been hinting at for a couple of weeks now. Actually, it's something that Steve's already in the process of clearing with Tony and Maria. But this question…"Why would you ask that?"

Bucky just shrugs and looks down at the floor a little sheepishly. "Just wondering."

"I mean," Steve starts, his brain working overtime, "we're friends. She's been a really good friend to me." But he knows that Bucky knows that. "Wait. Is this about what Natasha said the other day? About me… working up the nerve to ask Tessa out?"

Bucky shakes his head slowly, but doesn't look back up at his friend. Then he shrugs again, almost defeatedly. "Maybe."

Steve takes a seat at the breakfast bar, lets out a small chuckle, and turns to his friend. "No, Buck," he says sincerely. "We never dated, and I never… wanted to date her. It's never been like that with us." Surely he knew that they were just friends. How many times had she tagged along with them on outings, forced them to get frozen yogurt on Sunday afternoons, been part of impromptu movie nights at Steve's place? How many times had Bucky been there when she and Steve… _Oh, crap._ "Did you think…" he starts, suddenly flustered. "We weren't… anything we did… maybe it seemed like _dating_. Really, though, we're just friends." He watches as Bucky sits down on the arm of the couch across the room from him and rubs his chin in thought. "You weren't," he goes on, trying to find the right words, "you didn't… interrupt anything. If that's what you're thinking."

Bucky takes a sharp inhale of breath as he looks up and locks wide eyes with Steve. "That wasn't what I was thinking," he says slowly.

Steve looks surprised. "Oh. Okay. Well, why'd you ask then?"

To his credit, Bucky doesn't just shrug, as he's so apt to do these days when people question him about, well, anything really. Instead he lets out a long sigh and says, "I just wanted to make sure." Then, averting his eyes and gazing at the wall just beyond Steve, "Just wanted to make sure I wasn't stepping on any toes."

Steve looks at him for a long moment before jumping up from his seat, realization hitting him. "You're saying you're interested in her?" he asks a little too incredulously. "In Tessa?"

"That's so crazy?" he responds, a defensiveness to his voice.

"No, it's just…" Steve thinks about it, about all of their interactions over the last few months. They seemed to get along, sure. Sometimes they shared a joke, a good laugh, usually at his expense. But he hadn't thought that anything was… _there_ between them. They were just two people who occasionally hung out together. Because they were both his friends. They were really just together when with him. Right?

Sure, he had seen them sharing coffee in the common room once or twice. And sometimes they'd go grab a beer together, or venture out to the bakery around the corner. And he did remember hitting the gym last week and finding the two of them sprawled out on the sparring mats. _He's reminding me how out of shape I am_ , she had said when Steve pulled her up and asked what they were up to. But was there a weird glance between them then? He thought he might have seen something… Or maybe that was when they were at the bakery just a few days ago – yeah, that was it. Steve had gone to the restroom and when he came back he saw Tessa pulling off pieces of Bucky's croissant and laughing as she shoved them in her mouth. And he was laughing too. Smiling. Gazing. _Wait a minute._

"Wait a minute," he says suddenly. "Hold on," as his mind continues to reel.

They'd been sitting next to each other during movies, sharing the couch. She even fell asleep on his shoulder once. _But she's done that with me too._ And he walked her back to her apartment after, even though they lived in the most secure building in the world. _Yeah, because part of him is still stuck in the 1940s, when you treated a lady like a lady._ And… had they hugged? Once or twice? How could he forget that he saw his severely traumatized friend willingly touch another person, and allow _her_ to touch _him_ in such an intimate way? And the other day, when everyone was joking around about the two of them… it was just playful ribbing, right? Had they all seen something that he was blind to?

"You okay there?" Bucky asks finally, watching with some amusement as his friend works his way out of a stupor.

Steve's head snaps up, eyes locked onto Bucky's. "You want to date her?" he asks, and it sounds so innocent, so childlike, that Bucky can't help but laugh.

"Yeah," he says with a crooked smile. "I want to date her."

Steve still looks a little lost when he says, "Well, okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah, I mean… you don't need my permission."

Another laugh, almost a snort, comes out of Bucky. "Yeah, I know. I wasn't really asking for it."

"Oh," Steve says, looking almost disappointed. "Then – "

"Like I said," Bucky interrupts, "I just wanted to be sure." He rises and crosses the room, takes a seat next to Steve at the breakfast bar. "She said that there wasn't anything there, between the two of you. But that doesn't mean… I know you're close and you care about her…"

"Yeah, of course I do."

"So I just wanted to be sure that there wasn't anything there… on your end." He locks eyes with Steve and asks, "So there isn't anything, right?"

Steve smiles a little as he thinks about it. No. No there had never been anything there. Despite Nat pushing him to ask her out, harassing the both of them to _just fuck already_. "No, Buck. There isn't." He looks away for a brief moment before, "Wait, you talked to her about this?"

Bucky nods. "Yeah."

"So did you already ask her out?" he asks, a little confused and a little proud all at the same time.

Bucky raises his brows and takes a long inhale. "Sort of," he breathes out.

"Sort of? What does that mean?"

"Well," Bucky says, looking away and slowly getting up from his seat. "I guess we're a little past the _asking her out_ stage."

Steve turns on his stool to follow Bucky with his eyes as he makes his way to the fridge and pulls out some orange juice. "And what does _that_ mean?" he asks in a serious, almost parental tone.

Bucky turns around, juice glass in hand, and looks over at his friend. He takes one long gulp, downing the entire thing, and sets the glass on the counter behind him.

"Are you sleeping with her?" Steve asks.

Bucky continues to look at his friend, still giving no response, which is, of course, all the response Steve needs.

"Seriously?" He stands up and beings to pace. "You're kidding me," he says with a hint of disgust.

"It's not like we planned it," Bucky says, cringing internally at the cliché.

"How long?" Steve almost yells as he turns back to him.

Bucky shakes his head as he looks down, hair covering his face. "Not long."

"How long?" Steve repeats.

He looks up then. "A few weeks. Maybe a little more," he says, swallowing hard.

Steve stops pacing and drops down onto the couch, looking a bit defeated. He shakes his head. "You should have told me," he says into his hands.

"Should have told you?" Bucky repeats, walking over to him. "We are both adults, Steve. You yourself just said, we don't need your permission."

"It's not that," he replies, sounding more sad than anything. "It's just… you're my best friend. And she's… my other best friend. And…"

Bucky sits down on the couch next to him and rubs his face harshly. Side by side, faces in their hands, they both look as tired as two _normal_ men who just ran 15 miles. "I know," Bucky says finally. "You're right. We should've told you."

Steve turns to look at him, a little surprised to hear that from his friend. "Are you happy?" he asks softly.

The corner of Bucky's mouth twitches in a half smile. "I don't know," he admits. "I don't know if I can be. But when I'm with her, I'm a hell of a lot closer than I have been in a really, really long time."

"And is she happy?"

"I don't know, pal. You'd have to ask her."

Steve shifts on the couch to face Bucky, and he sits up straight as he says, "She better be happy. If she's not, and if _you're_ not, then…" He seems to be at a loss for words, but Bucky waits patiently until he finds them. "Just… _be happy_ ," he says finally. And Bucky can't help the smile that spreads across his face.


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's note:** This is the vignette that started it all. And it's what officially ends 'In the Beginning'. Bucky and Tessa's story will continue beyond this, though. (Sequel now up: We Grow Together)

* * *

They lay in silence for close to an hour, the only sound in the room their breathing, starting off heavy, exhausted, and eventually relaxing to a soft, rhythmic cadence. Her head is on his metal shoulder, her index finger absently tracing the seam of flesh where the arm joins his body. He can feel the warmth from her face and her breath with the temperature sensors hidden in the metal plates. And he wishes he could feel more.

This had become habit for them. Not just the sex, but the laying together in silence. They didn't cuddle per se, and it wasn't as simple as post-coital exhaustion. It was a time to just be – alone, together. After being together for just a few short months, he'd realized that what she'd given him was far more than just physical pleasure, more than companionship, more than something to look forward to even. She'd given him a sense of peace. When he was with her he felt… lighter. He could laugh and speak freely and make bad jokes and do whatever else he hadn't even realized that he'd been unable to do for all those years.

When he was with her he felt that he didn't need to pretend. He didn't need to be the ever-abiding soldier. He didn't need to be the best-bud Bucky. He didn't need to be the damaged Hydra experiment that everyone was waiting to break. He could just… be.

That was how he _felt_. But there was still a deeper reality. No matter how light he felt when he was with her, he couldn't just ignore the heaviness that weighted him or the darkness that still hid within. He was dangerous. He was a threat to her. He could so easily hurt her.

"I should go," he says with a sigh as he continues to gaze up at the ceiling. He hasn't been able to say those words while looking her in the eye in weeks. If he did, she might see just how much it pained him.

"No," she responds with a yawn.

"Tess – " he starts, but is quickly cut off and made to let out a sort of _oomph_ as she throws her left leg over his torso and bounces up into a sitting position over the top of him. The thin sheet is the only thing separating their naked bodies as she straddles him. She scoots herself down a bit so that her knees press into his hips on either side, and she drops down to lie on top of him.

"No," she repeats, nuzzling into his chest.

He moves her wild hair out of his face and lets his fingers intertwine themselves in the dark waves. With a long sigh, he places a kiss on the top of her head and says simply, "I have to."

She pivots her head up, rests her chin on his chest and looks him straight in the eye. "You don't have to. This is my apartment and my bed, and I say you can stay. I say you _will_ stay."

He can't help but laugh, a soft chuckle that she can feel emanating from his chest. "I can't, baby," he says then, placing his hands on her shoulders and gently pushing her into an almost seated position. "It's too dangerous."

Rather than taking the hint and sitting up, she lets him support her weight so that he has to continue to hold her there. She's not giving up that easily. "You don't have to be afraid," she says, and the utter sincerity of her words is almost enough to break his heart.

He moves his hand from her shoulder up to her face, runs his flesh fingers over her temple, across the small silvery scar at her hairline, and tucks her hair behind her ear. "You're so beautiful," he breathes out, his hand cupping her cheek.

She lays back down atop him, pulling her arms in close as she snuggles into his warm body. The window is cracked and the smell of snow filters in along with the icy chill of early winter. But he is warm. And she won't let him take that warmth away.

"I could hurt you," he whispers into her hair. "I have nightmares. You know that." As he speaks, he brings his metal hand to the small of her back. She starts and shivers at the cool touch, but doesn't pull away. She never pulls away from him. "You _should_ be afraid," he says, a stern quality to his voice.

When she speaks, the words tumble out onto his chest. "You won't have nightmares with me."

He continues to stroke her back with one hand while the other gets lost in her hair once again. "You don't know that."

She looks up at him then, says, "Don't you trust me?" with such wide, hopeful eyes.

"I don't want to hurt you," he repeats.

She sits upright, pulls the sheet up to cover her breasts, though barely. Her knees are pulled up into his sides now, and his metal hand falls so that it's cupping her naked hip, thumb absently stroking the tender skin there. "You could never hurt me," she says, gazing at him through the darkness. Without hesitating, he stops stroking her hip and instead roughly pinches a small chunk of flesh on her bottom. "Ow!"

He laughs as she rolls off of him, her hand clasping her marred butt cheek. "See?" he says with a devious smile.

Even in the dark, he can make out her eye roll. "That's not what I meant."

"I know." He turns on his side to face her, props himself up in the bed with his elbow. She's sitting upright, the sheet now pooled around her hips. He can tell that she's freezing, but she doesn't make a move to cover herself, too preoccupied with rubbing the spot that he pinched. He takes a moment to gaze at her bare breasts, to notice the way the moonlight highlights the curves of her body. Then he reaches down to the foot of the bed to grab the quilt and wrap it around her.

She doesn't move, just lets him pull the quilt up over her shoulders, tuck it in just beneath her chin. His hands stay there, holding the blanket to her, as he smiles crookedly. But the smile does not reach his eyes. Even in the dark, she can see that.

"I can do more than you know," she says softly, dropping her gaze and looking down at his arms in front of her. "I'm more powerful than you know."

"Oh really?" he asks with a bit of a laugh.

She looks back up and locks eyes with him. Her face is like stone when she says, "Yes. Really." He's a bit taken aback by the change in tone. Tessa may not always be lighthearted, but she's rarely so serious that it comes across as stern. Yet she's looking at him now like her next words are the most important words that will ever come out of her mouth. "I can keep you safe." And maybe they are.

He doesn't say anything, he just looks at her quizzically. Those words sound strange to him coming from a woman, especially from _his_ woman. _He's_ the one who should keep _her_ safe, always. _He's_ the one who should protect _her_ and keep _her_ from harm. _He's_ the one who should make sure that _she's_ never hurt – especially not _by_ him – and never afraid – especially not _of_ him. But as odd as the statement sounds, he can't help the childlike desire to hear it again, to have her hold him close and tell him that she'll keep him safe. To promise to hold him and love him and protect him, like his mother did when he was so young and so small.

She takes his confused face in both hands and further explains. "If I want to, I can tear a man apart."

"What does that mean?" he asks slowly, unsure if he really wants to know.

"It means that you're safe with me." She leans forward and lets her eyes close as her forehead falls to his. "I can't promise that you'll never have another nightmare. I can't promise that you won't wake up from a nightmare, confused and scared, and reach out and hurt me."

"That's what I'm saying," he interrupts.

"But if you _do_ hurt me, I can drop you," she says with a coy smile, pulling back to face him. "And if anyone ever tries to hurt _you_ , I can take them out too."

"You're real tough," he responds with a sigh.

"Just stay." Her hands are still on either side of his face, her eyes boring into him. "Just… know that I can take care of myself. And know that I can protect you too. And just… stay." She leans in and kisses him, long and tender. "One night," she whispers as her lips leave his.

He takes in a sharp breath, and lets it out slowly. "I want to…"

She pulls the quilt off her shoulder and brings it up to wrap around him as well. As she leans down toward the pillows, he follows. And before he knows it, she has him curled up into her, his head tucked beneath her chin. "I can make the nightmares go away," she whispers. "You just have to trust that you're safe with me."

"I do," he mumbles into her chest. And then he falls into a peaceful sleep.


End file.
